


Munchausen Syndrome

by Umi (umichii)



Series: Syndrome Trilogy [2]
Category: Original Work, Rebirth Moon
Genre: Magical Realism, Multi, Project: Rebirth Moon, Superpowers, YA Mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 20:09:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10368465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umichii/pseuds/Umi
Summary: With Selene kidnapped and the truth behind Binder’s attack surfacing, Jeanne must bear full responsibility over the second war. Yet all hopes seem lost when everyone he trusted slowly leaves his side.





	1. A Single Petal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t want to believe our romance was a mistake.”

_Selene is gone._

Those three words ring loudly in his head, never ending. Those three words haunt him for the past two days, and Jeanne doubts he could stand it anymore.

Jeanne Vergessen, with his hair now unkempt and already past the nape of his neck, sits on the very head of the long table patiently. His hands clasp together on top of the large conference table of Niebel High’s reception room. With the school under repair and closed from public, Jeanne decided to let Lucian make the entire campus his territory, his base now that he had made the war official when Selene was kidnapped. With some help from Syfer and Shaina, they had turned the gym into a training ground as well. He needs the space to train; he needs the strength to rescue Selene more than anything else.

So far, the only people inside the conference room are Meia Fernandez and Adrian Herald, heads of CEDeR, a solitary investigation team prioritized on the Niebelheim case, and fellow Niebelheim fighter, Shaina Lee. Jeremy Reiner and Mikhail Anderson, the latter now Kritiker’s formal leader, has taken the seats at the end of the conference table, looking away from each other as Armand Botticelli waits for the Shinsengumi Specialists outside.

The meeting will officially start in 30 minutes. Now, he only has 30 minutes to compose himself and break the news to them. He’s the only remaining able fighter in London other than Shaina. Aki Kudoku is still in a coma and might not be waking up for a long time. Former Council president Chris Balteisse had left for Italy under special Romanov orders. In the meantime, Zide Arcanum, Chris’ best friend, is in Denmark fixing contact with the surviving Rosenkrantz. Jeanne doesn’t know why they decided to order Zide to handle the deal with the Rosenkrantz’s remaining function. Zion Rosenkrantz had gone missing shortly after announcing his daughter has been kidnapped by his mortal enemy, and his son, Helios Rosenkrantz, had already been missing since a week before. No one knows how to find them, and no one seems to want to find them.

“Jeanne,” Jeanne looks up from the dark spot of black on the table. Meia is watching him with a worried look, her wide and worried blue eyes dull. Her hair’s dyed blondness is fading, and he could spot white strands already. “Everything is alright, right?”

The brown-haired boy looks elsewhere. He couldn’t dare answer that. Cynicism has taught him not to make promises he can’t keep.

The door opened; Armand, his blond hair now shorter, cut clean and short around his nape, led the Shinsengumi Specialists into the room. Krista Eldens, Jennifer Anaheim and Maria Delacroix swept in and took their respective seats next to each other.

“Sorry if we took so long.” Maria apologizes, hands pushing her shoulder-length dark hair back, tying it into a short tail. Everyone seems to be getting their hair cut lately, except him. Over the past few days, out of the three girls, Maria is the only one who has mellowed down, going from ice princess to mother hen. She has nearly taken Hilda Kremilhade’s position as the granny goose.

Shaking his head, Jeanne pushes the significance of that thought aside. He stands up from his seat as everyone settles down, gazing at him expectantly. There are only three things he has to share with everyone. One is that Selene is missing. He’s not going to share with them that she’s kidnapped. As long as the Shinsengumi girls are around, he can’t share the details related to Niebelheim affairs. Second is that the since the school has been closed down, the Romanov has negotiated with other schools to open some seats for NH students. Whether they like it or not, the girls _have_ to move there. They have to leave NH behind, and they have to make the other civilian students move, too. In a matter of weeks, Niebel High will be permanently locked up from public. It still does, after all, belong to private property. Syfer has made of that. The last point is that once the school is closed down… some people have to learn to let go. They’ll be moving in breakneck speed now, and he’s going to take leadership in this. He doesn’t know if there’s anyone in the room who’s going to oppose to him taking leadership, since he thinks everyone sees him as the heart of the Niebelheim, the leader, but who knows. He sorts of has the feeling Shaina is still pining for Chris’ leadership, even if the guy is countries away from them serving life debts.

With one last great sigh, Jeanne begins the meeting.

[xxx]

The hallway of the Simoni manor is only lit with amber chandeliers, casting shadows over large, full body tapestries and blue carpets. Hilda Kremilhade braves through the hallway as usual despite the cold chill. At the end of the hallway, on the right side, is a single door standing next to a small painting of Timoteo Simoni.

She pushes the mahogany door open. A lean, female figure, not old enough to be a lady’s, but not young anymore to be a little girl’s, stands inside the lightly furnished room, facing a large glass window. Hilda steps in after a soft knock before closing the door softly. She invites herself into the office, standing perfectly still before the Simoni’s boss, waiting for the boss’ reaction on the latest report in the airwaves.

The Simoni—or what’s left of it, Hilda thought darkly to herself—had received a report of the events happening in London, especially the matter about the reawakening of the Niebelheim’s heart. The report was written by Helios Romanov, who failed to meet them on their assignated date, and knowing why the blond hitman had suddenly disappeared, Hilda doubted its content.

But then, her boss herself had given the Keeper’s position to the blonde, no matter how doubtful he is.

“Boss,” She said cautiously, not wanting to cross the line. There’s a very thin line between the Simoni’s young, teenaged boss and the rest of the people ever since the end of the first war that had stolen the Simoni’s grandeur. “Zide Arcanum is currently negotiating with the Rosenkrantz…”

“Leave them.”

Startled, Hilda looked up at her boss’s shadow. “P-Pardon…?”

But the Simoni’s young princess didn’t repeat herself. She remained stiff in her stand, looking outside at her castle’s decaying garden, hands clasped behind her back as her long platinum gold hair tickled the ball of her palm. Despite the childlike innocence in her young, porcelain white face, everything in her gray eyes deceives her features. Behind those gray eyes were knowledge and experiences that no normal children her age goes through. And through that unnerving maturity in her is how she shields her expressions, how she keeps others from knowing what she’s thinking of.

That’s the problem everyone in the Family has with the boss. She’s hardly responsive, and when she does response, it’s always either in the form of a riddle or a language beyond their comprehension. Nevertheless, her answers always infuriate Hilda very much. After all, she’s always the one being blamed when interpretation went wrong. Two-word answers are never anything trustworthy to go by.

Just as Hilda is about to turn around to leave the room, the door suddenly opened and on Sarah Irise enters the Simoni princess’ office without an invitation, looking very much out of breath.

“Boss, we have a problem,” The older woman said, auburn strands loosening from the tight bun keeping them together. “Zion Rosenkrantz is attempting contact with the Family. He’s threatening to fire us in the next ten minutes. What do we do?”

“Ignore it.” The boss immediately answered.

Two words. All it takes are two words to cut off everything they have in connection with the outside world. Hilda watches in grim understanding of how cold-hearted their boss is to keep the Family intact, even if it’s through draconian measures.

“But what if he really attacks?”

“Do you honestly think Zion Rosenkrantz has the manpower to do it?” Hilda asks, replying in her mistress’ stead.

“But boss…”

“The palace has enough firepower to kill one man with a god damn grudge the size of America. Now get the hell out of here and take care of what your job description says.”

Sarah leaves the room as fast as she has rushed in. There are times when even someone like Sarah Irise’s caliber wouldn’t bother to argue anymore against someone younger and newer in the Family. With the way the Simoni is being handled now, duration of stay or loyalty determines your rank. It’s the power and the knowledge and how huge yours guts is to sacrifice a limb for the better good of the Family.

Left behind, Hilda keeps her stand straight, waiting for any further orders from the princess. When none came, Hilda releases an internal sigh and turns for the door.

Again, she is interrupted from leaving; only this time, from her boss.

“Get Hart. He’s late.”

“Understood.” Hilda whispers automatically. When she’s finally outside, she goes back to where she comes from and enters a new set of doors, this time painted white. And sitting leisurely inside it is Binder Hart, his left arm and right eye bandaged, still recovering from a second degree burn.

“The boss wants to see you.” Hilda relays the message tonelessly. She never likes the doctor. He’s always contemplative and morbid, and the fact that he’s a homicidal doctor doesn’t comfort.

When Binder made no notion of leaving his couch, Hilda unconsciously grinds her teeth in frustration, not even knowing why she has to deal with this. It’s never in her job list to deal with infuriating people. She’s the right-hand of the boss here who works part-time as a spy if the boss asks her to do so. Dealing with madmen is not part of it. She had been forced to pretend as a high school student for three years just to keep an eye on Chris Balteisse, even pretended to be his girlfriend, and now, she has become a messenger girl between a cryptic, speech impaired boss and a homicidal doctor.

“Hart, the _boss_ …”

“I heard you the first time,” The doctor drawled, setting down the glass of wine on his hand. “So young and already a bitch. How bad the future will be, I wonder.”

Despite the straight lash, Hilda forces her temper to remain calm. It would be a shame to fall prey to this man’s provocative words.

Lazily, Binder stands up from the couch and drags himself out of the room, sparing her a smirk. Sixteen years ago, it would be a respectable man calling him to his office. But now, it’s a speech impaired brat with whiny girls under her command.

Then again, it’s better than that damn Jeanne Vergessen to take the Simoni’s non-existing throne.

[xxx]

Jeanne takes a deep breath and reclaims his seat. All he has to wait for now is the information to sink in and everyone’s wits returning. He has never thought talking for an hour straight is this stressful and tiring. It has taken nearly his entire energy just to keep himself from collapsing.

But he has done it; he clapped himself on the back. He has finally told them the truth. He has finally lifted that burden, although just a little bit of it, off his back.

Jennifer is the first one to react after those sixty minutes of silence and attention. She has her hair tied up in a high ponytail, though this time she just used an ordinary hair tie instead of her usually favorite orange satin ribbon. Internally, Jeanne breathes a sigh of relief at the absence of the horrible color on chocolate brown hair.

“If you wanted us out of the picture, you could have just said so,” She says as she stands up form her seat. “You don’t have to lie or to withhold information. We would understand your reason anyway.”

As expected of her. She saw through the excuse like an expert.

“Please understand we’re not doing this because we want to. I… we all apologize for that. We just don’t want to involve you guys—girls into this.” Meia calmly answers her. Beside her, Adrian buries his head underneath the arch his hands made, a migraine attacking him; this is just too much. Jeanne knows without asking that Adrian is finally feeling the heaviness of their situation.

Silenced, Jennifer slowly takes her seat again and keeps quiet. This isn’t a situation they all want; she figures she shouldn’t argue anymore, to lessen the amount of piling stress that she could see has already been plaguing Jeanne since Selene’s disappearance.

Meanwhile, Jeremy leans against his chair and stares at Jeanne, who’s avoiding everyone’s eyes by looking down at the conference table. What else does the boy know?

“Jeanne…” But Armand quickly cuts him off with a hand on top of his, a warning look in his green eyes. _Now is not the time,_ those eyes tell him, and like Jennifer, Jeremy decides to follow that wish. There is no one to point the blame at; especially not Jeanne.

Never Jeanne.

The silence reigns strong inside the reception room, until finally, it’s broken by a shrill ringing of a phone that belongs to Jeanne. Startled—he didn’t even know it still exists—he grabs his phone and hits the Answer button.

Chris answers him on the other line, a country away from him.

“We found a lead, but it’s small. We’re still not sure about it, but hopefully, it’s a start.”

“Alright.” Jeanne answers softly. He’s too tired to even think of any complete sentence.

“Anyway, just want to tell you that there’s a chance Selene might be somewhere near. Like, seriously near. We just don’t know yet if it’ll be near you or near us.”

The line cuts off shortly after Jeanne’s reply. Sighing, he tosses the phone onto the table and collapses onto the weight of his chair, rubbing his temple along the way. He wouldn’t be surprised if he loses ten pounds after this. His entire complexion has already gone pale, his lips lacking its usual full pinkness. The shadows under his eyes are getting darker, and everyone keeps on commenting on how unhealthy he’s becoming. He’s like a walking undead already.

When he looks up from his tired gaze at the table, everyone is watching him expectantly. Reluctantly, he keeps his still-tired sigh and relays Chris’ call.

It is a little startling, but the Romanov has decided to let Chris go without much of retribution. Later, Jeanne realizes it’s actually because both of his parents are working closely with Lucian that has allowed him to be released without a catch. He suspected that if it’s only his father working for Lucian, Chris wouldn’t give a damn. A day later, when Chris told him he’d be going to Italy because his mom says so, Jeanne knew better than most that Chris is a mama’s boy, and he’s a real sucker at it.

“Besides, there’s not much to do now that you guys destroyed the Ægis.” Chris has jokingly told him before he left with Zide, who’s set to Denmark. Recalling those words right now sent a huge boulder down Jeanne’s guts. He prefers the Ægis over unknown enemies. At least with Ægis, he knows what to expect.

Then again, he’d prefer it even more if there’s no one around to ruin their peace.

“That’s it,” Startled albeit still tired, Jeanne glances at Krista who stands up from her seat, a little red on the cheeks. “I have enough of this.”

“Krista…”

“We’re not invited anyway, and we’re clearly just standing in their way. Come on, let’s go.”

And without another word, Krista leaves the room with a loud slam of the door. Jennifer rushes after her vice captain immediately as Maria follows, giving everyone an apologetic bow before leaving the room as well.

Meia turns her eyes to Jeanne, silently asking him if there’s nothing he should be doing. The boy only shakes his head; he’s done what he’s supposed to do. The lesser people the better, he thought. At least that way, the sacrifices would be fewer.

“What did Chris say?” Jeremy asks without much care towards Jeanne’s delicate feelings.

Jeanne stares at Jeremy squarely then at his phone. It is still small, the lead. Chris didn’t even elaborate on what that lead is. He doesn’t even know what lead Chris was talking about. How could he answer the question now that he doesn’t even know its answer?

“He said he found a lead, but it’s still small, so he didn’t say anything else.”

“Just that?”

“Just that.” Jeanne whispered, words coming out in barely audible gasps.

Meia’s heart cracks at the sight of this usually bright boy deteriorating slowly. She doesn’t even know anymore if it’s Selene’s absence or the great burden that this situation is putting on him.

Jeremy groans at the answer, making it clear it isn’t what he wants to hear. It’s frustrating that he’s stuck here in London, sitting around and doing nothing when he’s more fitted to go out and solve the mystery. Two years ago, he’s the one who went all the way to Vatican City and beat its heavy security system just to save Selene from being brainwashed by Ægis. Now, he could barely do a thing to save _someone_.

“Anyway, we still have to know where Helios disappeared to.”

Everyone turns and stares aghast at Mikhail, who remains his passive yet cold face. Jeanne’s eyes immediately narrow at him. Armand groans at the way things are going; of all topics to open, why must it be Helios’? Everyone knows how sore Jeanne is with Helios. The guy had practically come and go as he pleases. Every good trait the blonde has that’s worth a cent disappeared the moment not a shadow was left of him. Jeanne can understands if he’s worried, but damn it, there’s something called teamwork.

But maybe it’s because Helios doesn’t see them as a team. He doesn’t see himself as part of the team, and doesn’t see himself as becoming one of them. He’s going to do things his way, and not even Jeanne can change that plan, even if this is, after all, supposedly his fight.

Despite the rather obvious flinch, Jeanne wills his body to keep calm and clears all dark thoughts away from his mind—well, as much as he could, considering that nothing but morbidity is inside his mind.

“There’s nothing about Helios.” He calmly answers Jeremy, forcing the latter to straighten himself. Idly, Armand notices how robotic and automatic Jeanne’s reactions have become. What would the scene be like then if they’re suddenly under attacked? It would definitely need someone out of the blue—Selene, most probably—to appear and shock this boy back into the world of the living, he thought.

Simply put, Jeanne is still very much dead, and Armand doubts there’s any way to bring the boy back into consciousness other than vengeance.

[xxx]

The operation is a failure. The moment they remove the bandage covering her left eye, the wound opens and blood oozes out of it in thick rivulets. It has stolen precious hours and ounces of blood just to heal that wound, and Syfer has strained more than half of his power’s limit in closing that wound. He had to force the wound close with sheer will energy.

Sitting next to the hospital bed where her daughter remains unconscious, Natsume Kudoku prays silently for her daughter’s safety. It’s hopeless, Syfer thought darkly to himself. Aki has to remain blind in her left eye if they not risk losing her entirely due to blood loss. He couldn’t even understand why the wound keeps opening itself whenever it’s tampered with. Unless, of course, if Chris’ earth element power has seeped in and make itself a pest inside Aki’s stream, causing it to reject the invasion, thus affecting her bloodstream.

“There should be something we could do.” Syfer whispers to himself. There should be, no matter how small it could be, because he knows even just a 0.1% of success can change a lot. All he needs is to have faith in his team’s power and Aki’s will to leave. And besides, Aki’s loss will bear a great impact on the entire Kudoku lineage, and such a huge and deadly impact it will be.

“Doc, we can’t do another operation.”

That was what his assistant had told him an hour after wheeling Aki back into the intensive care unit. And looking at the girl’s prone and pale form, Syfer has to agree. Aki could almost pass for dead; she’s paler than those dead bodies in the hospital’s morgue.

He was shaken out of his reverie when Natsume suddenly leaves her daughter’s side. Watching the yakuza leader’s movements warily, Syfer keep still as if waiting for any queer movements from her. But when Natsume does nothing other than moving to stand before door, hand hovering over the door knob, Syfer finally understands the heavy weight on her shoulders. There is nothing else worse than choosing between love and duty, and right now, Syfer doubts there’s much reason to defend Natsume’s desire to stay by her daughter’s side.

Letting out a great air of tiredness, Syfer calmly says, “We’ll take care of her. I’ll make sure everything will be alright.”

The reassurance isn’t much, but Syfer’s very well damn intent on having no other patient other than Aki, because he can’t let Natsume down at all. Life returned to his cheeks when Natsume’s shoulders righted a little, her hand finally turning the door’s knob and walking out of the heavily sterilized room.

Eyes trailing back to Aki’s barely living body, Syfer ponders how he could fix this large disaster without killing himself.


	2. Disturbia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s a thief in the night to come and grab you.”

Monday morning, three days since Selene has been kidnapped. Jeanne has the dates crossed on his calendar. Meia’s starting not to like the way his mind is going now.

Standing under the dawning sky, Jeanne waits patiently for Armand to finish talking privately with Mikhail. He understands why they need a privacy of their own; that’s always been the way between best of friends. He also knows why Jeremy decides to skip the parting scene, staying locked up in Armand’s car at the parking lot.

“Be careful.” He heard Armand says again, one hand pressed flat against Mikhail’s cheek.

The night before, Lucian called them with an attached note: Mikhail has to fly to Italy—to Vatican City, rather, and help Chris in his job, and everyone knows—Jeanne _knows_ —Mikhail has no other choice but to be obliged to take the role. And now, at the London International Airport, both he and Armand bid him goodbye.

Both of them have the distant, unnamable feeling saying goodbye might not be a luxury to say anymore. They have to say it now, while they still have the chance.

When Mikhail approaches him, offering a handshake, Jeanne takes it with a grim smile. “Thank you.” Is all Jeanne said as Mikhail whispers a goodbye, turns to give one last, strong hug to Armand, and goes for his plane. Faintly, he could hear the raven haired teen to relay a rather scathing goodbye to Jeremy.

Left behind, Jeanne watches the plane takes off, and pretends he doesn’t see Armand’s somber face. He doesn’t want to think it’ll be the same face someone will make if he’s in Mikhail’s place.

[xxx]

The plane arrived at Italy at around eight in the morning, and when Mikhail steps out of the plane, he’s greeted to the sight of a grinning Chris.

“Hey,” The former Council leader greeted, tossing an arm over Mikhail’s shoulder. “I never thought I’ll end up working with you again.”

Mikhail scoffs at Chris’ words, looking away as they walk to their waiting car.

“Aren’t you supposed to be fixing Ægis?” He asks, getting direct to the point.

The question made Chris grin as they sat down on the leather cushioned chair of the limousine.

“That’s what they told you, huh,” Chris says. “I bet they’re all jittery now that we’re together. Didn’t expect the two of us will end up as their worst nightmare.”

Piqued, Mikhail quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Since when do you become this rebellious?”

“Since they put me on screen. That damn bastard. Don’t know what the old man sees in him.”

“Am I on screen, too?”

 Chris shrugs before stretching out lazily, giving the boy a pointed look.

“Better with one than none. We’re in Italy. This may be Vatican City, but it’s still Italy. Don’t expect saintly people roaming around not intent to kill you. As far as the underground world is concerned, we’re with the bad people.”

“Is everyone connected to the Romanov destined to die in Italy?”

“No, but most do,” Chris looks away from Mikhail for the view outside. The light blue sky of the September sky makes him smile, despite the situation. He has to keep a light and cheerful attitude if he intends to keep his sanity intact. Being surrounded by the Romanov’s dark, gloomy and frowning men is too unnerving, definitely different from his constant company with Zide’s cheery attitude. It makes him feel uneasy, like there’s something very eerie hanging around. He had never wished for Zide’s company this bad, and that’s saying something. He had been attached to Zide by the hips since first year, and though he’s currently angry at his significant other for lying to him about his relationship with the Romanov, the guy is still his best friend.

“And besides,” He adds. “There are only very selected Mafiosi here who’re tolerable to the presence of the Russian Mafia, or in our case, strangely dressed teenagers connected with said Russian Mafia.”

The ride lasts for only twenty minutes, stopping outside the Hotel de Herald. Mikhail raises an eyebrow at the hotel name, knowing fully well whose hotel they’re currently staying at.

“Complimentary of the Romanov.”

“I thought the Italians hate the Russian Mafia?”

“Not much when money is involved.”

Chris briefs him about the mission. It’s ironic, Mikhail thoughts, about this scene he’s at, standing in the middle of his hotel room as Chris lays out the instructions. He who used to be the Romanov’s greatest threat is now acting—and being treated like, Mikhail is sure of—like the great godfather’s second hand man. It’s as if they’d forgotten he’s the one who depleted a whole squad of Romanov assassins. Deep inside, Mikhail knows this has something to do with him being the Romanov general’s son.

“How long did you know your father has been working for the Romanov?” Mikhail suddenly asks. Chris looks up from his laptop. He doesn’t answer for a few minutes, fingers toying with his waist-length hair that’s tied into a high ponytail by a red ribbon, hair as dark as ebony, the same shade as his father’s. Mikhail had seen Jonathan Balteisse up front. He didn’t like what he saw, and he didn’t like to think Chris will end up like his father.

“Since I was thirteen, a year before Jeral was taken away from the Romanov. My dad left me at a monastery in China, training as a fighter under the same monks who trained my mom since I was little. They’re the one who taught me everything I had to know about being a fighter.”

“You’ve known you’re a fighter since you’re a _kid_?”

Chris shrugs, sitting back. “My dad stopped keeping secrets from me when he divorced mom when I was six. I sort of had overheard them fighting. That was when I first heard it, and well… my mom gave me the Tang’s heirloom when I left with my dad. So yeah, I’ve known everything since I was four.”

“Damn…”

“But I never knew my dad was working for the guy who my mom is sleeping with, and that he doesn’t give a damn about it. That’s basically the only thing he managed to keep from me.”

Mikhail blinks at Chris. It’s not a well-kept secret that Huang Lei sleeps with the Romanov Don, but it is a well-kept secret that the Tang’s empress _was_ the Romanov general’s former wife.

“She’s your _mother_?”

“It’s complicated, really,” Chris sighs, shrugging the topic off. “I’ve always known they divorced because of conflict of interests. What I didn’t know was that the interest happens to be Lucian. My mom went to Lucian and asked for his help in exchange of keeping the Tang Family together. Lucian wanted her in return. My dad was clueless about it until I was four, when he found out about it. But he’s a Romanov, through and through, and he owes Lucian’s dad a lot, that’s why he’s willing to divorce for the sake of staying in the Family. In the end, I’m just an extra in their drama series, the poor kid who the adults ignore because the scripts demand them to be more controversial.”

Mikhail stands there before the window, staring widely at Chris. That’s the longest speech he has ever heard from the older teen, and it’s definitely a longer answer than he has expected. Chris has practically narrated his entire history.

Chris stares up at him, before he grins snidely. “Caught you, didn’t I?”

“Damn hell you did, you bastard.”

Mikhail quickly regrets his choice of word when the grin fell and everything else darkens. Chris lets out a chuckle, not high nor cheerful, but dark and somber. “Maybe I am,” he hears Chris mutter, and Mikhail knows he’s referring to what he had called him. Damn, stupid mouth.

“Anyway,” Chris shrugs again, this time literally shrugging the topic off the window. “We have work to do here, and I think we should work fast if we wants to go home earlier with a bigger paycheck. We’re not working here for free, and I damn well want to make the best out of the money I’ll get.”

“We’re sharing the room then?”

“Yeah. Got objections?”

Mikhail pauses for a second, before shaking his head.

“None unless you snore.”

Chris grins at that, the humor easing back. “I do more than just snore, four-eyes.”

“Seriously?”

“Nah, I kid.”

Both goes back to work, aware of the surveillance camera set between their bed, behind the couches they’re sitting on. All four walls of the room have a camera hidden perfectly well behind decors, wallpaper and furniture. Chris has given him a layout of the room with the cameras’ locations in a form of a map to go to the nearest Sunpesos, just in case the cameras caught image of the paper. So far, Chris hasn’t found any mic around to record their talks, so as of now, it’s safe. But Chris doubts it’ll stay that way for the rest of their stay.

 “So we’re just hamsters in the wheel now.” Mikhail drawls, glaring at the Chris’ laptop in disdain. It’s not the files nor the laptop’s interface that’s disturbing him. It’s the laptop itself. It’s an ordinary Compaq Presario, but only with a customized skin in the color of _red_ , with caricatures of the Firefox’s red fox with its tail on fire and the Linux’s penguin, with a huge heart, in the form of the organ itself, between the two mascots. Mikhail would’ve preferred something like pink with meowing cats all over it. At least Armand’s laptop is manlier.

“I never knew you ship internet browsers.”

“I don’t. I just like the design. My mom made it.”

Mikhail chose not to ask anymore. He quickly returns to the job at hand despite Chris’ indignant questions to his sudden avoidance to the their new topic. Really, he likes Chris enough as a friend—he has countless of R.O. and DOTA sessions spent with him—but there are some things he’d rather know about.

Finally, he opens his own laptop, a HP Pavilion with its plastic sticker still intact, before releasing a long, dragging sigh. Despite the sad situation he and Chris are stuck in, the least he could do now is to help them find Selene. He can still send reports back home to Shaina and Jeremy; he had asked and they gave him the go signal. What happens after saving Selene though… he’ll leave that to Chris to ponder over. For now, he’s just the brains.

[xxx]

Angelica Simoni stares at the Simoni estate’s decaying garden. Red roses that used to be bright, crimson red are now dark, the petals’ edges frayed and withered. Moss has already taken residence in the cracks of the fountain’s statues; the marble benches have lost all of its shine.

For the past fifteen and a half year, the Simoni estate has been like that. Old and decayed, battered and withered. Not even her presence could remedy that. It’s such a painful stab to her ego, this mansion’s pitiful state. It’s as if the manor itself is proclaiming her unfit to be its new master since the death of her father, the late Julius Simoni. Then again, she’s willing to lead her ancestral land out of its inevitable demise no matter how hard the Romans oppress her reign.

Through the grayed glass, her baby blue eyes, half-lidded, stares at her own reflection, at how her pale blond hair are losing its shine due to stress and worry. She’s far too young to be having them, she noted. She’s barely 17, come to think of it, yet she already looks older than her assistant, Hilda Kremilhade, who’s—what? 18? 19?

Sighing, she turns away from the window. For eleven years, in just the young age of 5, she’s the Simoni’s head without much objection from the Family’s upper echelons. And for those years, she always has Binder at her side, following her like a butler, executing every order like a good servant. And now, with his new mission, Angelica is sure the older man will return in three days time with an arrogant smirk, a short report on hand. And then he will say “Mission accomplish” in that mocking tone of his that despite how infuriating will not fail to relieve her worries.

The mission is simple: kill Zide Arcanum. He’s not a big threat to them, but will be in the future as the heir to the Romanov throne, considering that Lucian has no plans of marrying and conceiving his own child. Truthfully, she hasn’t considered him a threat, until news reached her that he’s currently on his way as an ambassador to the Rosenkrantz. She doesn’t need anyone to unearth the struggling Rosenkrantz’s haven underground just to know that the Simoni are beginning to reclaim their power through the other families. Worse, if the Romanov, their greatest enemy, manages to bribe the Rosenkrantz order to their side, her plan would be ruined.

A knock on the door diverts her thoughts away. Hilda Kremilhade steps into the office, soft brown hair cascading over her shoulder, a simple ribbon on her head as a hair band. At the sight of her assistant’s frown, Angelica knows something not quite befitting is up.

Without waiting for her signal, Hilda concisely reported the news.

“Binder was the reason why Helios wasn’t able to return here.”

Pale, pink lips pull down into a sharp bow as her eyes narrow. Hilda continues at the reaction.

“Apparently, the Ægis abducted him before he could report in. So everything that’s reported to us afterward is fallacious; the journal’s contents were tampered by the Ægis. “

“Whose fault?”

“Ægis.” Hilda answers without a doubt. Angelica growls at the answer, anger rising instantly. That damn, backstabbing bastard. To think she has trusted him all this time.

“He has also contacted the Kudoku for help. Currently, Syfer Hart is making it a point that Ægis sides with the Romanov and will follow no other commands except his.”

What exactly is Binder trying to prove by acting behind her back? Years of following her like a lapdog doesn’t explain much.

“Anything else?” She asks warily, fingers twitching reflexively. Unless, of course, if he has been planning to make her think he’s nothing but loyal.

Hilda pauses for a short while, mentally checking if she has reported everything. A second later, her eyes lit up, and with a sharp look at her boss, she tells her about the Romanov’s activities in London, turning the Niebel High into a training ground for Jeanne and his friends.

“Doesn’t matter.” Angelica answers without another thought. Her half-brother can train all he wants, yet he will still not be able to reach the power of a pure-blood like her. Bigotry runs deep in the veins of those in a noble Family, yet Angelica knows it’s such because of a reason, because only those with the greatest bloodline can rule. He’s simply an extra, a mistake. She’s the real heart of the Niebelheim, the one leading the Family and the entire coven. Despite the efforts in bringing Jeral Simoni out, or the claims and protests of the lesser families at her takeover, it cannot be denied that she is the real heart. She has the legal paper to prove it, she has the blood to prove it further.

“Also,” Hilda hesitates for a second, but continues when her boss turned around and regarded her levelly. “The experiments are done with unsuccessful results.”

The Simoni’s frown deepens at the news. Hilda worries her bottom lip at the reaction, almost regretting of bringing the topic up. But she braves herself and continues, eyes never breaking the connection.

“The team failed to extract the restriction order’s seal from Rosenkrantz’s body. Hypothetically speaking, the seal can only be broken by something that created it.”

“A key?”

“Something like that.” Hilda answers. Despite the confirmation, her boss still looks less than pleased, and she knows very well why. Time is of essence, and right now, they’re running out of it. Any days from now, the Romanov will find out about them, and they won’t hesitate in bringing the second war into full force. They had pulled the greatest stunt during the first war. She doubts they wouldn’t do it again, for the second one.

After an entire minute of silence and internal debate, Angelica finally turns back to her mirror, dismissing her right-hand woman with a wave.

The office door opens and closes shut without a sound. When she’s certain Hilda is away from the door, she lets out the breath she has been holding since hearing her half-brother’s name. If Binder fails to eradicate Zide Arcanium, the Simoni might not stand a chance against a bunch of teenagers supported by the only Family worth her time.

[xxx]

Meia frowns at Adrian’s laptop screen. An email straight from the Kritiker has arrived in her inbox, the entire letter taking up exactly two pages that basically only speaks of one thing too elaborately: the Romanov is considering them to be a part of the Family. It has her thinking what had happened to the days where they’re simply planning on how to hold back the delinquents from Sigma Rho and making the best school fair there’ll ever be. Or when Adrian would take her to mountain hiking and check out some caves with carvings on its slimy walls.

Something must be terribly off, she thinks. Someone must have stolen the Fate’s eye and decides it’s better to play toss with it, and somewhere in between, someone suddenly jumps into the air and steals the eye so he could be the vigilante he thinks he must be. Pity he ends up losing the eye to another person who’s more likely than not to blow up the entire world with a bunch of nuclear bombs.

“You’re frowning again,” Adrian drawls, poking her head slightly. “Another mail?” He questions when Meia turns her frown at him. She nods, which seems to pass the frown onto his face.

They have been receiving the mail frequently for the past three days. He doesn’t know why they’re even bothering with it, considering that they’re very much privileged to join the ranks of Romanov than stay here on their own. They don’t have much choice, to begin with.

“Do you think we can get out of this?”

“Which one? This entire supernatural Niebelheim thing, or the entire _entire_ thing?”

“The entire _entire_ thing.”

Adrian shrugs.

Figures, Meia concludes to herself. And with that, she clicks the Delete button, Emptying her Trash along the way. It’s not like it’ll be the last of the messages anyway.

A knock on the infirmary’s door—the place now becoming CEDeR’s new unofficial headquarters—has the two turning heads, Adrian in the middle of opening a jar of peanut butter. The door opens, but Jeremy keeps his distance from the room’s interior.

“Back from the airport?” Adrian asks, his grip on the jar not loosening. When the lid didn’t want to open by his hands, he shrugs and tosses it at his guest, the latter catching it deftly without a word.

“I’ll be off for the next three days, starting tomorrow,” Jeremy answers. A pop resounds a second later, before Jeremy tosses it back to its owner. “Mikhail wants me to handle some things in Vatican that’re—well, private matters.”

“Private as in private—or personal?”

“Private as in not meant for anyone other than us.”

Meia raises an eyebrow at him.

“Is this a Sigma Rho thing?”

Jeremy scoffs loudly at the question. What the hell has that to do with his trip? The frat disappears with the school.

“You’re in good terms with Mikhail, right, which is something that is quite contrary to popular beliefs. So there has to be something else that got you two in good terms.” The blond genius reasons out with a pointed hand.

After a second of silence, Jeremy finally sighs, turning sideward to lean on the door frame. His action nearly made Adrian ask out loud if he has something against entering the room.

“It’s like Herald and I. We’re not exactly on good terms, but we’re mature enough to work together without blowing a head off. I am going there for Mikhail, and yes, we’re not on good terms—but we’re trying to fix that, honest—though that doesn’t mean we would let our differences get into our work.”

“Why do you always make it so formal?” Adrian blurts out. The other two just glare at him sharply.

Sidestepping her boyfriend’s sudden outburst, Meia goes back to interrogating Jeremy, _lightly._

“Is there anything else that we don’t know here?”

“Other than the fact that we’re going against the rules?”

“What rules?” Meia prompts immediately. The look Jeremy suddenly sent her confirms one thing: they’re up to something, and the feeling is oddly familiar.

“Apparently,” Yet it seems rather strange the millionaire heir doesn’t mind sharing information he had just quoted ‘private’. “The Romanov made it a point that we’re not allowed to act without their general agreement.”

“In short, you’re gonna go behind their back.” Their—being him, Mikhail and Armand’s tendencies to branch out and act separately isn’t really a well-kept secret.

“It’s like we’re under restriction orders, just different people giving the orders.” Jeremy shrugs casually at the statement.

“How long?”

“Three days, max.”

“What if it takes too long?” Adrian presses, making Jeremy frown, more on a what-if than a why-do-you-care way. “We don’t want backing you guys only to end up idiots.”

A grin went up Jeremy’s lips. As expected from Adrian Herald, the only other certified trouble maker of Niebel High, and the only one who can match up to his and Mikhail’s level.

“I never knew you treasure me this much already, after what happened two years ago.”

Adrian’s face went sour immediately at that as Jeremy’s grin went wider.

“Shut up, moron. Don’t get started on that.” The former snaps out rather tersely. But the humor doesn’t fade away, even when Adrian decides to pay more attention on making his sandwich over offering to protect Jeremy’s ass.

Meanwhile, Meia stares from one boy to another. “Am I missing something big here or what?”

But the two boys just kept their silence, and resumes talking as if she’s not around.

“Anyway, I’ll be off to Vatican later. Don’t tell anyone, especially Jeanne. The guy is too stressed. He doesn’t have to know we’re up to something else. He may be the leader, but he doesn’t have the guts like Balteisse. Armand already knew, just doesn’t know when, so you don’t have to worry about him. Worry about him once he comes barging in. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Also,” Jeremy pauses, wracking his brain of more reminders. He’s missing something very important. Oh yeah. “If Balteisse called, call me immediately. If possible, don’t contact Mikhail. He’s on screening. Unlike Balteisse, everyone’s more wary on him. Honestly do not know why.”

“And you’re not? Aren’t you supposed to be more dangerous than he is?”

“I have Syfer’s protection, he doesn’t,” Jeremy pushes away from the door frame, standing straight again. “Anyway, just don’t forget. Call me in case anything happens. And if things go awry here, call for the 13th number you’ll find in the organizer I gave to Armand. I don’t know how much the guy can help, but he knows lots. If Jeanne goes ballistic and all hope’s gone, call him. I also want you to watch over Shaina. I can feel something fishy from her. Armand knows this too.”

But before Adrian could ask even more, Jeremy walks out in rushed steps, obviously avoiding the follow-up questions he knew will come.

The two CEDeR members fall into silence at Jeremy’s departure. They’re not quite sure what the sudden amount of information is going to cost them. Finally, after a peanut butter sandwich and a hot cup of tea, both of them decided it’s better to keep things to themselves, and hope Jeremy Reiner will be able to come back to London in one piece with a sane piece of his mind intact.


	3. Scar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s already the time when dreams will be over and the stardust will vanish.”

Thick magic-resistant chains keep the Niebel High’s golden gates locked, with barbed wires set atop the four long, red-bricked walls. The rubbles and debris are already cleaned up as large blue plastic covers hide the buildings’ many gaping holes from the explosions. Yellow police tape wraps the entire campus’ outer walls, even the streets.

Hidden behind the large campus library and a small grove of apple trees, the campus gym glows and shakes under the intense pressure its occupants are exerting onto its sensitive wood flooring. The lights blink haphazardly as razor sharp wind cuts through air, missing fabrics and skin.

Gasping, Shaina throws herself to one side of the gym, away from the sudden blast of blue electric sparks. Jeanne stands on the other side of the gym, sweat rolling down his temple drop by drop.

His fingers twitch. Another pane of spider-web cracked glass shattered and burst into tiny shards. Shaina could only shriek in surprise.

Meanwhile, standing not far away from the two fighters, Armand keeps his lips from pulling down into a deep frown. He could see the strain on Jeanne’s face, that strain of his trying to keep his calm, trying to control his powers. Worse, he could clearly see the boy’s efforts going in vain, with the way Jeanne’s focus fading away, his entire body sagging, and the lack of care towards Shaina’s welfare. The boy is already attacking without much thought. He isn’t caring anymore on who he hurts in the process.

Five more minutes then he’ll enter the field and put an end to this training. Shaina is already too afraid of hurting Jeanne—or maybe even getting hurt—to fight properly.

Just as Shaina has gotten herself back on her feet, the fluorescent light above her shatters to pieces, sparks flying off in all directions. At the same time, a blood-curdling scream pierces through the air, sharp fluorescent glasses raining down on the poor girl who’s too shocked to breathe and get away form the spot.

Armand sucks in a loud gasp as spots of red stain the wooden floor, and only moves from his place when he notices Jeanne’s in a worse state than the injured girl.

He’s lost it. He screams and then screams again, screams until his throat is sore, until his voice is hoarse, until his lungs caved in on him. The pressure covering his brain like a thick membrane is squeezing him far too painfully. The pain is never this bad. Now, it feels ten times worse. It’s like thousands of sledge hammers are hammering his skull simultaneously until it cracks, the bones piercing into his brain until it bleeds, until the pain is too much he falls and loses the world underneath him.

And while Jeanne writhes on the ground, Shaina crawls away from the glass covered spot mixed with some drops of her blood, the sounds of crunching glasses making Armand flinch. He knows someone has to help in pulling those glass shards sticking out of her skin.

“Can _I_ go and help him now?” He asks her as she nears him, the girl hissing sharply when bleeding knee with a glass shard embedded onto the skin hit wood. Shaina ignores the somewhat rhetorical question to sit on her bottom, fingers pulling the shard off of her knee.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Armand scowls darkly, pulling his hands out of his trousers’ pockets.

“We’re not supposed to interfere if something like this happens. That’s the order. We know he’ll lose control most of the time.”

“And you’re willing to let him go _mad_?” His voice raises a little, his infamous temper surfacing again.

But Shaina doesn’t relent. “It’s for the sake of his powers honing.”

“With the way things are going?”

She never relents.

“Then tell me how things are supposed to be.”

Shaina bites her bottom lip, but not hard enough to draw blood. She’s just following instructions directed. All she knows is that Jeanne’s expected to scream his lungs out and cry tears of blood, and that she’s not meant to let anyone interfere when Jeanne’s undergoing the process of taming his own powers, even if he has previously shown quite in control of it.

Finding the silence rather perturbing, Armand glares at the Lee’s princess. “How long is this bullshit going to last?”

Shaina sends the blonde a rather sharp glare, slightly hurt at the accusing tone thrown her way.

“Until he learns how to control his power.”

Armand scoffs loudly, but he doesn’t say another word anymore; it’s hopeless to argue. Instead, he moves away from his spot and walks towards Jeanne. The latter has already stopped moving, reduced into an unconscious mass of body limbs. Despite Shaina’s retort, Armand bends down and scoops the body onto his arms, the infirmary in mind where Meia would be willing to help him put the guy on his arms into a good sleep.

For the sake of keeping a wary eye on the blond multimillionaire, Shaina accompanied him to the infirmary, her eyes not missing the expanding black blotch burned onto the back of Jeanne’s hand.

[xxx]

Huang Lei glares at the parchment on her boss’ table, the contract waiting to be signed. It has just arrived early this morning, tied into a tight scroll with the Simoni’s raven emblem sealed over the upper edge. It bears a grim warning all over its aura, and the Tang’s empress has been glaring at the damned piece of paper for the entire day. She has read the contract’s content, and despite Lucian’s doubtful enthusiasm to sign the damn thing off, she keeps it from touching the pen’s tip. The sugar-coated words lining the entire paper are too thick yet coarse for her liking, and knowing Angelica Simoni, nothing good will come out of it. Lucian had laughed loud at her objection, but Huang Lei plays by her cards well, daring him to agree in calling it a woman’s intuition. He should know there’s no good decision he has made to the Family without her advice.

Nonetheless, Lucian did end up agreeing with her. Now, he’s out of the mansion to check up on the warehouse as she stays here in his office with the somber letter.

The office door opens and closes with a soft thud. Huang Lei turns at her new guest, eyebrows lifting slightly at the unexpected visit.

“You looked like you’ve seen a ghost.” Jonathan Balteisse smirks at her, eyes narrowing dangerously at the woman clad in her expensively tailored blue suit.

Surprise turns into annoyance in less than second. She scowls at her—what? Ex-husband? Legally, maybe.

As if sensing her sudden chagrin, Jonathan chuckles softly and walks deeper into the office’s interior. It’s awkward, he has to admit, but he guessed nothing could be worse than working for the man his former wife ran off with one fine day. Not to mention of course that his wife— _ex-wife_ , he berates himself— is basically his somewhat colleague who sleeps with the boss now.

He has the feeling the woman married him for the sake of their son’s legitimacy, but he didn’t dare confirm it. Even the worst human on Earth has a tender side only a woman can stab.

“What do you want?” she asks scathingly, the question nearly coming off as a growl, her eyes never leaving the amused grin on Jonathan’s lips. It’s irking to be in the in same room with the man she thought was going to be a dignified husband. It was insulting to be the last to know her own husband had been fooling around with an older woman and people laughing at her behind her back because she’s just too young when they married. She was only 17 when they had eloped, and though independent, she must admit she had been pulled by the intensity of the moment and didn’t pay much attention to the consequences. And now, 18 years after with a son already halfway into becoming a certified hit man, she still can’t erase the thought of him letting her sleep in another man’s bed for three years until their divorce paper has been legalized.

Suddenly, she frowns at the thought, and Jonathan frowns at well in reaction. Maybe there weren’t truly meant for each other. It must’ve been the hormones that had landed them here.

“We have a conference meeting with other families, and he’s nowhere to be seen. Where the hell is he?” Jonathan finally says. As if in reflex, Huang Lei scoffs loudly.

“He already left for the warehouse.”

 “When?” the immediate question. But the moment the word left Jonathan’s mouth, it sounded off as a demand rather than anything else. Huang Lei glares at him coldly as the first few twitches of eyebrows begin.

“Do I look like his secretary?”

“No, but you’ve slept with him far enough to know.”

The tension snaps. A knife cuts the air Jonathan’s head is previously at. It hits the wall, the blade half-buried onto the wood. The knife’s golden-hilt handle shakes at the force of impact, and Jonathan stares at it in surprise. Soon, surprise turns into anger in less than a blink of an eye. He snarls at the Chinese woman.

He was the one who threw the first low blow, but they know he meant it as a friendly jibe, not something to warrant such a cold-blooded answer. Then again, maybe he was being too childish. He _was_ the one who wouldn’t let the past go, after all, no matter how unfair it would be.

The door opens again, but this time, it remains like that. Angelo Vicerra stands at the doorway, platinum blond hair gelled back like the smart businessman he is as sharp green eyes move from the Romanov mistress to the other occupant. Amusing, so to speak. Finally, when both show no inclination to jump for each other’s throat, Angelo steps in.

“Can we go and look for him now or what?” He drawls, eyes shifting as he reads each person’s tense stature properly. One is seething in anger, the other internally drowning in guilt despite the mocking grin. When will the two ever set their differences aside and just clear the gigantic misunderstanding between them? He has to salute Lucian for being so tolerable.

Meanwhile, Huang Lei glares at the newcomer, the stereotyped aloofness of the executive oozing strongly.

“And why does he have to come along?”

Angelo points at Jonathan with a knowing smirk.

“I don’t know. Because he’s the right-hand man, maybe?”

Huang Lei snaps her eyes at her ex-husband and glares real _hard._ Damn bastard. And when Jonathan shrugs rather offhandedly for her liking, it infuriates even more than she could handle, and Angelo’s amusement just simply _grows._

“So,” He inserts smoothly, grin still intact. “We have 50 guests from allied and rivaling families, none of them from the coven, all a few kicks from killing someone. I suggest we get the hell out of here now and look for our good for nothing boss.”

[xxx]

“This is beyond appropriate.”                      

“No, it’s not. This is what you call job entitlement.”

Jonathan turns to glare at the Vicerra president behind him, who he still pities greatly with all the lazing skills the man has.

“You do know that just made no sense.”

Angelo shrugs again before returning to his trudge along the tunnel.

The man had flown over from America like what Lucian orders. When he arrived, allies and rivals from neighboring and not quite neighboring countries gathered inside the Romanov headquarter, and the boss was nowhere to be seen. The right hand man though was around, long ebony hair, tall figure and broad shoulders sticking out like a sore thumb among the blue-eyed blondes inside the conference room.

“The boss ran off to the warehouse, right on an emergency meeting. What the hell?” Jonathan instantly muttered to him before dragging him out of the conference room. The next minute, he’s lost inside the huge Romanov mansion, Jonathan already ahead of him.

The two had known each other since Angelo took over the Vicerra Corporation. As the right-hand man of the Romanov, Jonathan serves as the telecommunication line between the Romanov and the Vicerra Corp. As the Vicerra gets its ass deeper into the hole the Romanov had dug, the two had gotten closer over the years, occasionally swapping information and news for the other’s mission. And somehow, after knowing his brother is somewhat connected to the other’s son, the two have another reason to add to their list of Why We Must Catch Up with Each Other Every Month.

Huang Lei though, is an entirely different story when in it comes to Angelo’s life. He’d met the older woman in one of the parties Lucian would occasionally throw to tighten the Family’s bond with the lesser houses and its affiliates. He could clearly remember the look of chagrin he had worn when he saw the woman stomping her way towards him, her trademarked red gown’s golden phoenix embroideries glimmering under the chandelier’s light blinding him terribly, her cold and harsh dark eyes glaring at him—as if they weren’t narrow and sharp enough to begin with.

Next thing he knew, the woman slapped him real bad it stung for an entire week, followed by an attempted murder using a bread knife. He was only saved when Jonathan stepped in to pull her—rather, the bread knife, since he seemed reluctant to touch his ex-wife—away.

Lucian had only apologized to him personally the next day, simply with an excuse that his mistress has a rather monstrous temper and doesn’t generally like anyone in close relation with her ex-husband, Jonathan. Angelo would’ve retorted to that latter statement, but when he noticed the dark shade forming on the underside Lucian’s jaw, Angelo thought otherwise and decided to settle with what he had.

He figured it was best not to trifle with the woman ever since that day, but up until now he still has no idea what crawled up the woman’s ass and bit her there to bitchslap him.

As to why they’re traveling in the dark, moldy underground tunnel connecting the Romanov manor to the warehouse outside the estate, everyone can just point the finger at Angelo. It was the Italian blonde who thought leaving the manor filled to the brim with blood-thirsty and anxious Mafiosos is too suspicious, especially when they’re together, that the lady of the house is just _between_ them, the ‘them’ being the mistress’ ex-husband and his closest friend.

Too damn suspicious, alright.

“But it’s still suspicious, you can’t deny it. Jonathan’s the right-hand man, you’re his pseudo-secretary, and next to Herald and Fernandez, I’m his favorite bone to pick.” Angelo quickly defends when Huang Lei has opened her mouth to retort. Sooner than later someone’s going to notice the three of them are gone without a trace. “At least it’ll give us no less than 5 minutes of head start, right? They _have_ to check the entire mansion before saying we had left already.” Angelo adds when the two other still seems doubtful of him.

It’s just a matter of choosing the lesser evil, he believes.

When they arrive at the end of the tunnel, climbing the steel ladder—

“Watch where you’re putting your hand at!”

“ _I did not_!”

—and opening the trap door of the warehouse’s basement, Lucian is already standing before the hole, dark eyes sharp and murderous.

“What took you so fucking long,” the boss snaps at them the moment Angelo pushes the wooden plank off his head. He could only stare and gape in surprise. He knew it he shouldn’t have taken lead, because clearly enough, he’s the first to feel the brunt of Lucian’s anger. And when Lucian’s mad, all hell breaks loose.

[xxx]

He opens his eyes to the sight of blinding white, and when his brain screams in pain, the sight disappears into a dark, almost digital realm, complete with glowing, neon grids everywhere. The place is leveled and void, the top domed—he noted—and he’s standing under the epicenter of the place. Right under a large, silver cross hanging atop, facing the ground (or was it the sky?).

“About time, kid.”

His head whirls to the side at the sound of the voice. There’s nothing in this otherworldly place though. Not a soul.

“You sure did get rusty after all these years.”

He turns to the other side wildly, his eyes shaking as his mind panics. He doesn’t know anymore if it’s just his mind playing tricks with him, or he’s just so stressed voices start going off inside his head. It must have got to be the stress, he concludes. After all, the place is so empty, and the silence is so thick a drop of pin would be like the explosion of an atomic bomb. It must’ve gotten into his mind, screwing with him.

White dust particles gather together behind him, and upon hearing the sound of shifting sands, he spins around to see them molding and taking shape, solidifying into a single entity with no face. Just a silver cross across its head, two straight red lines going down from where its eyes might suppose to be; like a Virgin Mary crying blood.

“Yo,” the spectral greets; Jeanne screams.

[xxx]

The scream has a teacup flying, its hot brown liquid splashing down onto Adrian’s lap, earning a mix of cry and cuss from the teen. The liquid burned him through his cargo pants that are looking more suspicious than ever before in his entire life.

“What the fuck!”

“Jeanne?!”

The air died on his tongue; he just stares at Jeanne with wide eyes, and for the first time in his entire life, he could make no other noises except a pathetic yelp.

“Oh, my god,” Meia gasps out loudly. She must have seen it as well.

Jeanne’s eyes have gone from brown to sharp gold, and the black blotch on Jeanne’s hand has spread all over his right arm in a spiraling pattern, ending just before his collar bone with a curved tip.

“What?” The boy asks warily, strange golden eyes shifting from Adrian to Meia. The CEDeR’s male leader still has his jaw dropped.

Slowly, senses return to Meia. Without breaking eye contact with Jeanne, she reaches for the intercom and calls for Armand and Shaina (those two no doubt arguing again) to the infirmary.

“May? What’s going on?” Jeanna asks, his voice cracking at the edges.

A stab of pity hit the girl hard in the chest. She thought taking this calmly would be a smarter choice, but it seems like it only made everything worse for the boy.

“Jeanne, you…”

The infirmary door slides open with a loud thud. Armand stands there at the doorway, his hand gripping the door hard as he snarls at Adrian the moment he steps in.

“What the fuck, Herald. Jeremy’s gone and—”

But just like Adrian, his words die when his eyes caught sight of Jeanne. Meia observes his reaction with a tinge of worry as hers and Adrian’s scene does a repeat on the two newcomers.

And when he realizes he’s not going anywhere in knowing what the hell is going on, Jeanne takes it upon himself to know the gist. He grabs the hand mirror lying conveniently on the desk next to him and stares at his reflection.

A second later, Meia finds herself with a bruised lip from worrying it far too much. Shaina is already on the phone talking to Syfer heatedly while applying band-aids on her knees and arms.

Adrian is trying to calm the overly calm Jeanne down. That calm façade of Jeanne’s is too overused, too cliché; it’s the only defense mechanism Jeanne has.

“Seriously, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Not when he looks like some B-rated comic villain.” Armand bites out snappishly, earning a glare from Adrian.

“You’re not helping, you jerk.”

“Am I supposed to?”

“Why don’t you get the hell out of here, huh?”

“Just so you know, I’m supposed to beat the shit out of you if it wasn’t for Jeanne. Jeremy left, and you didn’t tell me when.”

“ _Shut_ ,” the boy between the two others stop in their bicker, turning heads to watch Jeanne—only to find golden eyes bearing unto their skull murderously. Both went instantly silent at the glare, shivers running up their spines as those eyes’ pupils turn into slits. “ _Up.”_

“Guys, guys!”

The two immediately took Shaina’s interruption as an escape from those eerie golden eyes’ stare.

“We have a good news, a somewhat bad news, and a bad news that’s off-topic.”

The phone is down. Shaina keeps herself to her side of the room, leaning against the other end of the desk.

“Let’s start with the worst.” Meia says.

“Alright, the bad news is that they don’t know how long Aki’s going to stay in a coma, and they doubt she’ll be waking up soon.”

“Next,” Armand cuts in without waiting; Adrian glares at the blonde again, peeved by the nonchalant behavior.

“The good news is that Jeanne’s condition is only temporary and is actually a normal thing. The somewhat bad news though… Syfer has no idea how to help because the kind of thing is a Simoni thing that he basically knows nothing of, quote-unquote.”

“So what’re we supposed to do then?”

Jeanne stares at Shaina, then at Adrian, then at Armand. The older of the two is giving Armand a very pointed look, and those narrowed green eyes are a bit out of place.

Before any of them could say anything in surprise, both Adrian and Armand suddenly pounce on the poor, unsuspecting girl, holding her down to the floor.

“Get a duct tape, now!”

“Guys, what’s—”

“Get _off_ of me, you oaf!”

Minutes later, after a roll of duct tape and Shaina securely taped to the ward bed, Jeanne stares at the two other boys again, flabbergasted. Meia is too speechless; she could only hit Adrian on the head.

Despite the duct tape on her mouth, she glares icily and seethes at the two boys responsible for taping her to the clinic bed like some psychotic patient.

Jeanne’s the only one who still has no clue about his bearings. Meekly, he asks, “What the hell is going on?”

But the two boys ignore him. Armand puts away the tape as Adrian brushes both hands off of imaginary dirt, frowning grimly.

“I always knew Jeremy was on crack, but this is just too much.”


	4. The Messenger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The pilgrims are gathering the marching band, the marching band’s howling.”

Saturday morning, 9:00 AM sharp, Riveri Hospital dean Syfer Hart’s office.

Lucian was standing next to Syfer, who’s busy looking over files and folders. Zide stood there inside the spacious office looking a bit out of place, wearing his favorite washed off green hoodie and even more washed off jeans and Chucks. After a few words from his older cousin, Zide’s fate has been sealed.

Zide Arcanum knows accepting whatever deal from the Romanov—family or not—will result to him being in the enemies’ hit list. So when he officially agreed to Lucian’s plan, he understands he might have to leave London soon. Chris leaving with him is only an added bonus, he later realizes, when he steps into the Romanov’s private jet. Though their destination aren’t the same, the knowledge put a rather heavy rock on his guts; at least he’s assured his cousin wouldn’t let anything bad befall on his best friend.

Now, Tuesday noon, only a quarter left before 1, Zide stands patiently in one of Berlin’s subway, waiting for Kevin Herald. The meeting note was simple: 1230, subway near Heritage’s. Heritage’s is the Herald-owned chain of luxury hotels, so he shouldn’t be feeling panicky about the choice of meeting. But with the way his paranoia is getting onto him, Zide doubts he’ll last long without being too jumpy.

He jerks real hard when a hand has suddenly touched his shoulder, the hold heavy and firm. Before he could turn his head, he’s spun around and finds himself faced to face with the smirking face of Kevin Herald, newly dyed dark brown hair cut to the side.

“Someone’s jumpy,” he drawls, grinning smugly at the teen.

Peeved, Zide only pouts his infamous pout at the hit man before pushing the hand away.

“You’re late.”

“Sorry about that,” Kevin shrugs. “Got caught up in the airport. Damn customs wouldn’t let me go until they speak to my higher up.”

“You brought your guns, didn’t you?”

“What kind of man doesn’t bring his gun, kid?”

Zide shrugs back. A point there, he guessed. They’re not civilians, not even when they’re in another alien country. They belong to the underground world now, and through and through Kevin will choose life as a hit man over anything else. His cousin Lucian has that effect on most people whom goes under him, he figures.

“So what’re we supposed to do here?” He asks. They make their way out of the subway. A car’s already waiting for them on the sidewalk, the silver Mercedes obnoxiously blocking the road.

“Mission is simple: make ourselves at home at the Rosenkrantz’s hideout.”

“The what?” Zide immediately asks, steps falling short before the man. He must’ve missed something from the mission proper Ryan gave him before he left London. There’s no invasion of some kind, especially not Rosenkrantz. But the glare Kevin sends him right now doesn’t look like he’s kidding, and Zide knows he’s in for some major trouble now.

“Rosenkrantz, kid. Survivors are alive, and the boss wants us to find their hide-out. Some interrogation then negotiation, then we’re done here. Simple as that.”

“And how do we look for this hide-out?”

Kevin shrugs again. The stoplight turns red.

“We already have the location. All we need is you as our bait.”

And then Kevin crosses the street without waiting for him. The green Walk sign is already blinking fast by the time he forces himself to cross the pedestrian line.

So Lucian did left something out from the contract. He should’ve known something like this would happen. Really should’ve known.

[xxx]

Mikhail stares at his phone’s screen, his eyes wide in worry.

That fool, he immediately thought when a very well known series of number flashes in the screen displaying one Jeremy Reiner’s number. He shouldn’t have called, that idiot. He should’ve known he’s being screened!

“What’s wrong?” Chris asks, next to him. They’re currently in the St. Peter’s cathedral, the cathedral now in its last stage of reconstruction after the great explosion two years ago. Mikhail stares at him long and hard, debating with himself about Chris’ trustworthiness.

“Nothing.” He answers. It’s better to play safe.

“If you prefer that answer.” Chris whispers to him, ignoring the sudden perkiness the men behind them are making. Mikhail’s eyes widen at that, his mouth forming an ‘O’.

 _Did you know?_ He asks through his eyes. When Chris grins at him smugly, Mikhail knows he got his answer right.

“How?”

“Screening.” Chris simply whispers before he sets back to work, which is basically checking each tapestry hanging from the ceiling. They’re supposed to look for a crack Dean Anderson has made in this cathedral that’ll lead them to a clue, that in turn will them to a secret doorway that leads to an underground tunnel that will—oh, enough. He doesn’t even know what this mission of theirs has to do with anything.

After thirty minutes of silence and four more tapestries, Chris breaks the heavy silence between them. “So what’s he going to do now?”

“I don’t know.” Mikhail simply answers, before he steps away from a very old and dusty tapestry. Chris is just next to his tapestry, checking the wall for cracks made by a bullet.

“You know, for something that’s meant to be huge, it sure is hard to find.”

Mikhail stares at Chris from his stand. If the other is trying to make something out of a light conversation, like a secret exchange of meanings behind words, he feels too reluctant to join the talk. Chris is known for many things, hidden messages behind casual conversations being one of them. The guy might as well talk about how to throw up right now.

“Oh! Found it”

He immediately took that as his cue.

Rushing to Chris side, making sure their shoulders are pushed together and that they’re covering whatever hole the guards behind them can see, Mikhail hides his head beneath Chris’ outstretched arm, pretending to be looking over an empty spot Chris’ pointing at.

And then there he sees it, a tiny crack on the bottom of the wall. What is it, he wants to ask, but he says nothing when Chris bends down to pick on it. Mikhail quickly mimics the move, pretending again.

“What’s that?” He asks, curious. Chris only grins at the question.

“That’s the crack we need.”

“How can something so small hide something so big?”

Chris shrugs again, silently telling the younger teen he doesn’t care enough to know more.

Inserting a finger inside the hole, Chris wiggles the finger a little. Then he felt it, the brush of something rough against his finger pad.

With a deft maneuver of his body, he shifts and leans onto the hard stone wall, hooking a finger over the material inside the crack. A tiny scroll barely two inches long pulls out of the hole, prompting a grin from the Asian boy.

Mikhail frowns at the new discovery. So much for something big.

“That’s our clue?”

“That’s our clue.”

Crouching low on the floor, Chris picks the tiny paper up with care and rolls it open. Mikhail leans closer to the older teen to see better at whatever’s on the scroll. Annoyance ruled over him again when he realizes nothing but gibberish—well, to him, that is—is written on it.

“And now we’re stuck.” He hears Chris mutters, rolling the paper into a scroll again before slipping it inside his pocket.

Great. Just… great.

[xxx]

While the boys are still out of town doing various detective works, back in St. Petersburg, in an unknown warehouse south-east from the Romanov estate, a lady and her ex-husband are stuck midway at the mouth of the tunnel, with their lead causing the blockage.

“Would you _please_ move your ass?!”

“Fucking bastard, _move_!”

But Angelo couldn’t hear anything. He’s sweating bullets, petrified in fear. Lucian’s angry, burning glare is staring straight through him, boring a hole into his very being; his knees are shaking madly.

“Why didn’t you tell me,” Lucian grits out as his hands turn into tight fists. “That they took the black blood from the heart.”

Angelo gulps again. Below him, he could hear another hiss from Huang Lei; a knife is already poking him in the ass.

“ _Move_!”

“ _Speak_.”

“I—”

“Damn it, Vicerra! I’m not here all day to smell your ass!”

“ _Vicerra_ …”

“It was his fault!” He blurts out. Seconds later, a bell rings mentally.

Uh-oh.

Lucian is silent for a while, eyes narrowing until only accusing slits are left behind. “Who,” he simply _demands_ ; that single word is enough to let Angelo push all blame at Jonathan, who’s unfortunately enough, stuck below Huang Lei, barely has his hands on the steel ladder.

“It was his idea, not mine!”

“And it’ll soon be my idea to fucking _kill_ you, you bastard!” Huang Lei shrieks at him, one hand pushing his ass up. Prompted, Angelo scrambles up the stairs and over the trapdoor, panting slightly at the effort. The other two behind follow suit, with Jonathan cussing another round. When Angelo fixes himself straight, he finds Lucian’s burning glare still at him.

“ _What_ the _fuck_ happened,” The ability to ask and put question marks after each sentence has disappeared in Lucian; Angelo has the feeling that’s the effect when a certain Romanov Don has been angered. “Syfer called me and _threatened_ me to tell him everything we found about the black blood. Do you even know the meaning of _secrecy_?”

“Well, I didn’t _really_ tell anyone,” A twitch of an eyebrow. Must play his cards well, Angelo decides. An enraged Lucian is worse than anything else on earth. “I just told everything I know to Herald. Syfer asked and I see no harm in telling him as well since he’s on our side and I figure Herald and Fernandez would’ve asked him too if they got some questions.”

“Syfer is _Ægis_. He’s a _Hart_. He may be on our side, but he has the blood of a Hart and any Hart can stab my back. All these years as the Reaper might be just an act, and I’m not gambling my family’s safety over our friendship.”

Angelo stares at Lucian incredulously. A frown mars his lips, as his brain starts to pick up the fishiness. Finally, after a moment of silence, he says, “I don’t get it. You’re his best friend. God, you’ve known each other since you’re _kids._ Why are you suddenly doubting him?”

“Because he’s wants the heart,” Lucian finally says. “And we can’t let him have the heart. It may have rotted now, but there are still a few essence of its power left. Syfer wants that little power remaining, and we can’t give him that.”

“Why,” Jonathan interjects. Behind him, Huang Lei’s eyes shift from the Romanov Don to Angelo’s frown, aware of the sudden tension in the air. “There’s nothing Syfer can do with the black blood. We’ve already settled it that no one is allowed to delve further into this matter. Case’s closed.”

“I was the one who told Syfer to order Anderson’s brother to steal the heart from the school, but I never told him why. I know Syfer’s smart and I know he’ll be curious about it, but he knows he can’t butt his nose into this. This is a Romanov matter and he’s not a Romanov.”

“The mere fact that you asked Syfer to order Anderson’s brother has indirectly involved him into this. And you know those two Harts are always looking for ways to utilize the black blood. Syfer just wasn’t able to after he split ways with Binder, but now, you’ve given him all he needs to go back to exploiting the black blood.”

“And let’s not forget he’s Ægis’ head now,” Angelo adds. “He now knows everything from both sides.”

“Where’s the heart?” Huang Lei suddenly asks. The three men turn and stare at her, to which she returned sharply. “Isn’t that why you’re here, suddenly boycotting the meeting? To check on the heart and make sure Syfer didn’t run away with it?”

“You pick up things too fast.” Lucian simply says, before turning around and leaving the room. “I’ve kept the heart locked in a vault upstairs. Syfer may know what the heart is, but he doesn’t know where it is.”

“But it wouldn’t be long before he figures you’re also keeping it here.” Jonathan retorts as the three follows the Romanov Don. “God, I can’t believe you’re questioning Syfer’s loyalty.”

“Shut up. You’re just a lapdog.”

Jonathan was about to bite back until Angelo elbows him, lips pursed into a thin line. They’re just subordinates to this ambitious man. Subordinates have no control in the Romanov Family, especially age.

Lucian leads them out of the basement, climbing the short steel staircase before arriving at the warehouse’s main interior. The place was filled with crates and a few cranes at a corner, the entire place made of steel. A large steel door that can frame a bulldozer is at the right side, and opposite is another steel door, a thick chain all over it, complete with a large padlock. Next to it is another steel staircase, circular as it leads upward to a lone door in the middle of the wall.

 “How’s Chris and Anderson’s brother?” Lucian suddenly asks as he walks for the stairs.

“My son—”

“ _Our_ son.”

“ _My son_ ,” A glare at Jonathan, followed by a hiss. “And his friend is in a good start. Screened, but good start.”

“Kevin and Zide?”

“Kevin called. He’s met with Zide late this noon. All’s well in their side.”

“And Ryan?”

“He still has yet to call in, but I trust him. He’s the most level-head and smartest out of the bunch.”

“Fool. We shouldn’t be relaxing. This is a war, for God’s sake,” Huang Lei pauses for a bit, face contorting as if she’s forgotten to mention something of significance. “Oh! The letter.” She exclaims; unconsciously, Lucian sighs, stopping on his track. When Huang Lei begins glaring at her boss, the general populace knows what’s wrong. “The offer is still open. Take it or leave it. The contract will burn, either way.” She says scathingly, overstepping the line between the Don and the subordinate. But Lucian doesn’t mind; there’s not a day Huang Lei wouldn’t argue against him. It makes him wonder sometimes who’s truly the boss around.

Lucian sighs in defeat, raising his hands to prove the point. “I’ll take the offer. You go and do it then. _But_ , if you can’t pull a proof in less than a day, I’ll sign the contract and send it off.”

Huang Lei turns away from the group, retracing her way back to the basement.

 “Are you being difficult again?” Jonathan suddenly asks, his low voice cutting the air. But Huang Lei didn’t pause nor heed him. She just continues her way down to the basement, footsteps echoing loudly across the warehouse’s steel floor.

“Let her be, Balteisse,” Lucian lays a hand on his right-hand man’s shoulder, steering him away from his spot, towards the stairs. “She has a test to finish. Now, the heart.”

Sparing one last glance at his ex-wife, Jonathan turns for the stairs, ascending it in slow steps. Each step causes the steel to echo their footstep, Angelo bringing the rear of the climb. Lucian unlocks the lone floating door on the wall, leading them to a long hallway made of iron, white fluorescent lamps leading the way. At its end is another door, this time made of iron with a large latch on its center.

Angelo stares at the vault’s door with huge eyes, jaw dropping at the sheer size of it. An elephant could walk through the door!

Lucian pulls the metal latch on it. The door slides open without a sound, stopping when it hits the wall inside with a dull thud. Both of his subordinates gasp at the vault’s interior. This is the very first time Lucian has opened the vault for someone other than him.

Unknowingly, Lucian’s lips widen into a thin smile as his pupils dilate, stepping inside the vault, unmindful of the freezing, subzero temperature.

“What the fuck is this, Lucian,” Jonathan hisses at the younger man, eyes not turning away from the objects inside the vault. But his boss only shrugs, letting him and Angelo walk in.

Everything inside the room is made of stainless steel, from the walls to the floor to the ceiling. The entire room is an entire, gigantic freezer, the temperature cold enough to make Angelo exhale white puffs of air whenever he breathes through his mouth, as his nose couldn’t handle breathing in the cold, harsh air. He’s not used to this unforgiving cold, unlike Lucian who has been living in the northern parts of Russia for most of his life.

Smaller vaults are fixed to the left and right walls, some with deadbolts, others are digital. Three man-sized vaults are situated on the wall opposite to the door. The first one has a deadbolt, the second one with a numerical keyboard, the third one a simple, single-dial padlock. A medical table is set in the middle of the room, suitcases on one side.

Lucian approaches the third vault and unlocks the padlock. The door opens like most school lockers would. Inside it is a jar set on chest level, and Lucian grabs the jar before placing it on the table.

“Lucian, you have _got_ to be kidding me,” Jonathan swears again, hands rubbing his arms frenziedly to keep whatever warmth his suit can give. “That’s a fucking _dead_ organ that pumps blood.”

The Don scoffs loudly. “What were you thinking when I told you about the heart? A heart-shaped pin cushion?”

Faintly, he could hear Angelo making a retching sound, but he ignores it.

“Lucian, you lost me. That thing there can’t be Jeral’s heart. That’s a _fetal heart_.”

“I never said it’s Jeral’s heart.”

“Then whose heart is that?”

“Simoni’s supposed to be first’s son’s heart.” Lucian answers. “If this fetus hasn’t died prior to delivery, it would’ve been our Jeral.”

“The way you’re addressing the fetus as an ‘it’ is scaring me, boss.”

“Deal with it,” Lucian glares at his right-hand man. Angelo was standing as far away from them as possible, face paling as his lips turn blue. “And for god’s sake, grow a spine, Vicerra.”

“So what’s the deal with the heart and the black blood then?”

“The deal is this: the black blood can be synthesized from a blood belonging to the coven. Ægis has synthesized their first share of black blood from four years ago, and there’s no known record whose blood was used. The first trial ended up as a failure, so they threw away the source. Two years later, they had their second trial. Guess.”

“Selene Rosenkrantz.”

“Correct. By synthesizing her blood, a pure Rosenkrantz blood, with liquid mercury, they were able to come up with the black blood.”

“Just like that?” Jonathan asks, head turning at Angelo who’s still heaving outside the vault. “Seriously, Vicerra, get in here and start explaining. This is your field.”

“It’s a fucking freezer in there and no, I am not going to face that damn jar.”

“What else did they do with the blood?” Lucian asks the blonde. The man, face still pale, simply shakes his head negatively. “I don’t know anything about Ægis’s experiment. I only know that of Kritiker’s. They used Helios’, but it’s a failure.”

“When was this experiment?”

“Sometime before they decided to transfer Helios’ powers to Selene, which was a bigger failure since Ægis interrupted mid-experiment and the opposite happened.”

Jonathan sighs, hand habitually rubbing the frustration building up in his head away. “This is why I told you it was a bad idea bringing the Kritiker into our ranks.”

“I have no choice. The Kritiker knows too much, and they had Helios. If I hadn’t taken them in, Ægis would have.”

“And look at what it brought us. A bigger mess.”

The Don and his right-hand man fell into a stalemate. Jonathan hesitates for awhile, finger twitching as his hand clutches the hem of his sleeve.

“Listen, with all due respect, I just _honestly_ think it was a bad idea, trusting them so much. The Kritiker never work for the Family’s good.”

“Balteisse, you’re straying from the topic. We’re here for the heart, not about the past.”

“But…”

“Boss is right, man.”

Jonathan glares at the blonde by the door.

“I prefer you to go back to throwing up if you’re not going to help me reason.”

“But there’s nothing to reason! So Kritiker was lousy, big deal! But it’s because they’re lousy that’s why there’s no reason why we should drag them into our conversation!”

“Well, I must say that’s so far the most useful and reasonable thing you have said, Vicerra.” Lucian applauds, staring at the blonde levelly. “Now if you don’t mind, _get in here_.”

Scowling, Angelo drags himself into the large, freezing vault. “We’ve already agreed not to do any shitass experiments on the heart and the black blood, boss. I’m standing by my oath to the contract.”

“Vicerra, we _need_ to know how Binder was able to synthesize the black blood.”

“We already have the formula! Herald got it! He stole the entire procedure from the Ægis’ database! What else is there to know about?”

“We need to know if there are alternatives in synthesizing the black blood.”

“If there are, what’re you going to do about it?”

Lucian stares at the blond Vicerra with wide-eyes. The young man has just raised his voice on him, and Angelo barely does that.

“Your call, not mine.” Jonathan mutters, and Lucian doesn’t spare him a glare.

“The black blood is as bad as a nuclear missile! You’ve heard what Herald had said about Daniel Riveling, what the black blood did to his body!”

“Angelo’s right, boss. We can’t do this.”

The Romanov Don continues staring at his two subordinates. This is the very first time Jonathan Balteisse, his right-hand man since he was ten years old, has taken someone else’s side. Suddenly, he grabs the jar and tosses it carelessly back into the vault, slamming the door and locking the padlock.

“Let’s go.” He simply says, voice empty of emotions as he storms out of the vault, leaving Jonathan and Angelo inside the vault, the two staring at his leaving shadow.

“Boss…”

But Lucian ignores him, and there Angelo realizes that despite how close they have all become, they still can’t bridge that gap between master and servants.


	5. Dress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “In front of the mirror, I doze off with you, your fingertips light pink. Your hand unconsciously showed me its weakness, and you shut your lips.”

The entire Rosenkrantz household—or what remains of it—is eerily quiet, the house empty of human signs other than the seventeen year old boy’s body snuggled warmly underneath the thick, dark blue comforter in his borrowed room, a yellow, fluffy bird perched on the window sill, sleeping soundly as well.

 

Jeanne is sleeping soundly without any nightmare induced breaks, now a rare occurrence. Yet even in his dreamless, nearly comatose state, it doesn’t stop him from feeling the great tremor underneath his head. Grumbling, his hand goes under the pillow, groping for the vibrating thing ruining his much deserved sleep. When the phone’s sharp ringing finally registered on Jeanne’s brain, he forces one eye open and squints at the name on the screen.

 

Seeing his former Council president’s name on the screen steals a rather loud groan from him. Reluctantly, he answers the call.

 

“You do know it’s god forsaken to call at,” he pauses, turning for the night clock nearby. “Two-thirty-one freaking AM.”

 

“Shut up. This is an urgent call, in case your pathetic mind couldn’t pick it.”

 

Urgent call my ass, Jeanne thinks darkly to himself. Rubbing the sleep off his eyes, he straightens up, leaning on the head board behind him. “So what is it?”

 

“Well, Mikhail and I found a clue—but it’s tiny. Literally tiny.”

 

“Then why are telling me? It’s useless if it’s that tiny.”

 

Dully, Jeanne could hear the faint sound of intense typing from the other line, followed by Mikhail’s voice.

 

“Anyway,” Chris returns to the line. “The point is we’ve found a clue, it’s in ancient runes—Mikhail thinks it’s Norse or skaldic or Vikings, gods I don’t know—and neither of us can translate the thing.”

 

Jeanne frowns at this piece of message. And they expect him capable of answering such question?

 

“And no,” Chris quickly adds as if expecting his thought. “I’m not asking for your opinion. I just need Meia’s number—ow!” Jeanne has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes sarcastically, since the gesture wouldn’t even be noticed when the other is countries away. On the other side of the line, he could hear Mikhail likely to be yelling at Chris.  Seconds later, Chris returns to the line again; Jeanne wonders who’ll be paying for the bills. “Okay, correction,” The older teen says, sounding much like a newly reprimanded kid. “Mikhail wants to know if you know anything about runes.”

 

“Well, do I look like someone who knows?”

 

“Figures,” he hears Chris muttered. “It’s quite obvious that _Jeannie_ here ain’t a closet nerd—hey! Stop throwing things at me!” And before he could hear whatever Chris has to finish, the cool and calm collected voice only Mikhail could muster greets him a rather scathing ‘hello’.

 

Seriously, Jeanne thinks, what is with nocturnal people and their lack of care for the non-nocturnals?

 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Jeanne, I just want to know if you know anything from Norse or Slavic myths,” Mikhail says. Frowning, with the sleep completely gone from his mind, Jeanne sits straighter, phone pressed to his ear. “Because we have one clue here that’s written in runic language. Obviously, I can’t work well with a brain having no clue about runes.”

 

“That’s two brains!” Chris’ voice echoes from _beyond_ the line, forcing an upward quirk from Jeanne’s frown. Mikhail mutters again, something about a brain and a monkey brain. “Don’t pretend we never partner up before!”

 

“Still a brain,” Jeanne catches on, chuckling at the ‘Whatever’ Mikhail casually throws at Chris on his side. “Anyway, all I know about Norse myth is, well, those that we’ve been taught from school.”

 

“Like the epic Niebelungenleid and Ragnarok?”

 

“Yeah, those,” Jeanne mutters. Then he pauses, recollecting his words. What the…

 

“Bingo.” He hears Mikhail gasping out loud. He could already imagine the triumphant grin the other boy loves wearing. With a hurried thanks, Mikhail hangs up after a short goodbye, leaving him alone again in this terribly quiet and lonely house. Ironic that even someone like Chris and Mikhail could make him feel happier. When was the last time he was able to smile, feeling that strange flutter in his stomach? When was the last time he had smiled because he truly felt happy and content? A very long time—maybe even never, now that his memories are resurfacing again. All the past sixteen years were actually nothing but made up memories of an artificial intelligence. In one way or another, he felt cheated—extremely cheated. He knows it shouldn’t be bothering him that much, yet he couldn’t help but wonder if the memories made with his friends prior to meeting Selene are real, and thus matter. Cynthia, May and Raymond… he has lived with the memory that they’re his friends since he was in kindergarten, but then just days ago, almost a week, his self-proclaimed, former adoptive father appeared in front of him and called him his son, calmly explaining to him that those memories he had were fake, and that his true memories are hidden in the further dark recesses of his mind in fear.

 

But fear of what? He thought. He doesn’t even recall anything that are supposed to be in the dark recesses of his mind. He doesn’t even _know_ what are supposed to be in said part of his brain. Amnesia… Lucian called it memory seal. Just like Selene’s, only hers was her powers and not her memories.

 

Selene…

 

He sighs heavily. There’s not a second he doesn’t think about her, how she is, where she’s been taken… How did everything happen again? He only befriended her on that first day of school, only pulled her to his side so that she wouldn’t be too lonely; she looked too lonely for her to get lonelier.

 

Things aren’t supposed to end up like this. _This._ He’s not supposed to befriend her, she’s not supposed to accept his friendship, he’s not supposed to ask for her place, she’s not supposed to let him stay at her house so casually… she’s not supposed to be his girlfriend and he’s not supposed to care for her beyond the care of a friend without him realizing firsthand that he’s falling in love, and he’s falling real bad. He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t be worried, really shouldn’t be crying because desperation and worry are eating him inside out.

 

Face meets pillow, eyes glossing as they stare at the wall next to the bed, imaginary colored spots floating around here and there. He’s confused; the more the questions he asks, the less the answers he gets. Why is it like this?

 

[xxx]

 

Something is off the moment Jeanne wakes up. Sunlight streams through the white curtains, lighting the room with a bright yellowed hue color. Everything is still in place, but he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling off. There’s something else, somewhere in the house, and it’s setting him off. An aura. It’s a new aura, a dark, menacing aura, and Jeanne couldn’t place a finger on what or who it belongs to.

 

Cautiously, he gets out of the bed, clad only in his boxers and a large, faded P.E. T-shirt. He has nothing worth as a weapon on his body other than his hands, but he’s not worried about that now. He’s more worried if there really is something hostile in the house. Absently, he notices the strange markings on his right arm, his new golden eyes glowing in his reflection from the dresser’s mirror.

 

Nothing, his mind tells him when he lands on the bottom step of the stairs. Everything is in order, as still as how he left them the pervious night. Nothing moved, nothing changed. But there’s still something new, his inner voice insists, his mind’s latest resident that wouldn’t stop pestering him ever since his transformation.

 

Jeanne felt his breath hitching at that realization as everything becomes clear in his eyes.

 

Golden locks and emerald-green eyes on porcelain skin. He could never forget that familiar sight and he knows it better than anyone can argue that he could recognize Helios Rosenkrantz anytime, anywhere. The missing boy is standing right there in the middle of the living room, surrounded by red couches and furniture. The cold fireplace behind him is lit, the fires probably lit by his own powers. Jeanne knows because he could feel no warmth, no heat from the fires crackling in the hearth, and this knowledge unsettles him even more. Helios’ flames only feel cold when something is wrong. Blue flames, he thought. Burn real bad, but you couldn’t feel the painful heat.

 

Helios’ wearing the clothes Jeanne last saw him wearing—white shirt over black cargo pants, bikers’ boots matching those leather bands on his wrists. Yet his face is grim and dead. He looks so not like the cocky blonde Jeanne has grown accustomed to. He looks like that brat again, that annoying, arrogant rich kid he’d first met that one time when his powers started reawakening, barging into Selene’s— _this­_ —house as if he owns it once he steps on it, only deader.

 

Anger and fear are a mix of colliding emotions inside him. His heart’s ramming hard against his ribs, blood rushing to his head as if he’s being hanged upside-down; he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t draw in any air. So many questions piling up inside him again, and now, he doesn’t know which to ask anymore. The more he looks at it, the more things are becoming surreal, the more everything is becoming nothing but a fragment of his imagination, an illusion, a hallucination. It’s so dreamlike now; he fears that if he says something, anything, Helios would disappear in a blink of an eye, and everything would be nothing but just a made-up image. And deep inside, he doesn’t want that to happen. He doesn’t want this whole thing to be just a dream. Knowing this scares him even more.

 

“But maybe everything _is_ just a dream,” Cold air runs it course down his spine. Jeanne could _feel_ the sneer behind his back. “That boy standing there, maybe he’s just a dream. Just a ghost of the past…”

 

No… No, he’s not. Helios is back. He’s back so we can go and find her—go and save her. He knows where she is now, that’s why he’s back. He knows and he’s here to help. He’s here to help and save her. We can save her now. We can, because he’s here.

 

Flames block his vision of the blonde; there’s fire everywhere. Helios fades into dust, the fireplace losing its light as everything else turns into ash. Everything disappears as darkness clouds his mind, soon covering his entire world. The living room is gone now with all of its couches and carpets. It’s now nothing but that world with its green lights and void sky. Jeanne holds his breath as his eyes close, a dull stinging sensation on the back of his hand. But he couldn’t dare to look down at his hand; he doesn’t want to see those thorns and swirls in his arm anymore.

 

“Going coward on me, kid?”

 

His heart skips a beat as he nearly jumps at the cynical voice behind him. His body twists around immediately, facing the white spectral that’s most likely to be the product of his mind’s insecurities. It must be that, he tells himself. Nothing but just his mind’s insecurities.

 

“Not really.”

 

The spectral grins at him—if it could grin. It’s faceless, still faceless, and Jeanne hopes it’ll remain faceless forever. But he could see the image of it grinning, a grin on its face like a Cheshire cat. He’s scared. He’s scared of what else might be living in his mind. This monster…

 

“That’s just plain rude, kid. I ain’t a monster, ya? Just a… well, a spectral.”

 

“A… spectral?”

 

“Yeah. A spectral, a spirit. Your power’s spirit.”

 

This is suspicious, his inner voice quickly warns him. First, the Lost Bloodline, then his sealed memories, then now a spirit. Last he reckons, those two former things didn’t bring him anything but misfortunes. Braving himself, Jeanne opens his mouth and spoke softly, as if testing the murky water’s surface.

 

“You…”

 

“Schrye.” It quickly interrupts him. It sounds annoyed, as if insulted just by a simple, informal address. Jeanne blinks at the white spectral, at the two red lines running a straight line downwards from its eyes should’ve been. He jumps when he hears a sigh coming from it.

 

“My name. That’s my name. That you gave me.”

 

“What’re you talking about?” He blurts out. If the spectral indeed had eyes, he guessed it’ll be glaring at him scornfully now.

 

Jeanne stares at the spectral again—he couldn’t address it by its name. Frightening, in a way—and at the red lines. The line stretches beyond its head, going down on the sides of the spectral’s white, steel body as golden talons gleam underneath this dreamland’s green, glowing grids. It has a name? Incredulous.

 

“I heard that, kid. You better watch what you’re saying.”

 

“What?”

 

The spectral moves a block of white steel that is its arm, tapping his forehead with a sharp claw.

 

“Your thoughts. I can hear your thoughts very clearly.”

 

“Wh—how?”

 

“’Cause I live in your head,” It lives in my head? Jeanne stares at the spectral skeptically, eyes going wider. “I’ve been living in your head ever since you went haywire. Activating the lost bloodline after years of inactivity can do that. Those markings on your arm proved it.”

 

“I don’t get it,” Jeanne whispers. Suddenly, his throat feels raw, the same feeling he always gets whenever he suddenly speak after minutes of silence. “I don’t get this entire thing. I don’t understand anymore.” He adds silently. And as if testing the spectral’s words, it taps his head again, this time gentler.

 

“I can bring your memories back to you if you want. Weren’t you just thinking ‘bout ‘em while back? It’ll make ya’ life easier, with them back.”

 

Jeanne bites his lip, his mind’s wheels turning again. If he gets his old memories back, will he forget everything that has happened? Will he change and become that Jeral Simoni that Lucian has adopted and raised? Will Jeanne Vergessen disappear forever?

 

“No,” That one word alone pulled Jeanne out of his reverie. Glancing up, he watches the spectral move about in the empty space they’re in, its head moving right and left. “Your memories will come back to you like you’re watching a movie. They’ll be added up to your memory lane, next to whatever you know about. They’ll seem like new stuffs to you, or even another person’s thought, but it’ll feel very much like you. It’ll be as if you’ve lived life in two places as two people…”

 

But?

 

“But Jeanne Vergessen will disappear. _You_ will disappear.” The spectral whispers, now hovering higher in the air.

 

So cruel, Jeanne’s mind immediately thought as the spectral continues floating around.

 

“But that’s the truth, kid. You can’t deny it. You’re just real unlucky to be picked as his vessel. Jeral Simoni is no kid with a golden heart. He’s real, and he’s evil. And once he wakes up, he’s not going to care about you.”

 

“I don’t get it,” In reality, his head is aching, throbbing in pain. He couldn’t understand a word the spectral is telling him anymore. “I just… don’t get it.”

 

“Jeanne Vergessen… is now a nobody from a somebody, altered with a synthetic mindscape and injected with Jeral Simoni’s blood. Jeanne Vergessen now exists to revive the Niebelheim, so that heart of the Niebelheim, Jeral Simoni, can be revived.”

 

His eyes fall to the empty ground underneath him, following the glowing green lines going down eternally. Above him, the spectral floats farther away, turning its back on him. “Then…” He wanted to say, but he couldn’t. He only stares at the nothingness beneath him, mind shutting down.

 

_What am I?_

 

[xxx]

 

A sea of paper cups from Sunpesos cover the entire coffee table, some standing on top of inch-thick papers and documents. Mikhail wanted to get rid of them earlier on, but his messier partner wouldn’t let him. Motivating, Chris said.

 

Motivating my ass, that moron, he thought darkly when another cup fell to the carpet floor. He could barely use the coffee table to write something onto his notebook.

 

He ended up lying on his bed while Chris busies himself, tinkering away at the desk, both of their laptops sitting next to each other, connected by the USB port.

 

Mikhail believes he came here to Vatican to help Chris in the latter’s mission. Chris, in the meantime, thought he signed for the job of tying whatever loose ends Ægis had left here in Vatican from two years ago while deep in inside, he knows Lucian is just looking for ways to get rid of him. He didn’t expect Mikhail to show up a day later with a bunch of documents and reports about the Vatican incident. And when they came back from the cathedral, neither expected this—hunting and decoding clues that’ll lead them to the Rosenkrantz’s ancient, surviving Family’s hideout.

 

“Makes you feel like a puppet, doesn’t he?” Chris asked him the moment he opened his laptop, logging into his own private server. “Even my dad is partially skeptic to whatever he does. I always believe half the reason he’s practically attached to his hip is because he wants to keep an eye on him so he wouldn’t pull anything fishy.”

 

And knowing this led Mikhail to believe the third in ranking is always more dangerous than the second.

 

“Then again, he didn’t double think of who he’s dealing with. Binder’s not the kind of guy who’d be so simple. He’s a really complex guy; he pays every attention to every intricate detail. Who knows, we might be here, decoding this Norse clue because he wanted us to.”

 

Ironically, Mikhail believes every word Chris said. There’s a great possibility that they’re just being unknowingly led by Binder, like a herd of obedient sheep.

 

Tossing five empty cups to the overflowing bin, Mikhail goes back to the table placed against the wall. Chris has his hair done in a high ponytail, his ridiculous bangs pinned upwards with red hairpins, a hand rubbing the sleep away. It’s already 2 AM. The two had been awake since 5 AM of the previous day.  

 

“Well?” He asks, leaning over the older teen’s shoulder. “Did you get past the first line?”

 

“First five words. You know I always leave this kind of job to Shaina.”

 

“I wonder sometimes who’s the real Council president.”

 

“Oh, just _shut up_. There’s never a complimentary line from you. _Never_.”

 

“And you expect that from _me_?”

 

Chris snorts loudly, pushing the other boy’s face away. They’ve worked together countless of times. In fact, Chris had worked with Mikhail more times than with Zide, even if half of the time was spent in pissing Mikhail off.

 

“Did you try getting some script from the elder Edda?”

 

Chris stops his other hand’s movement, which is typing. He turns and eyes Mikhail critically, left eye twitching. “Do you really think I know a lot about this?”

 

Mikhail returns the stare with a pout. “I at the very least trust that you know _something_.”

 

“Well, news flash. I only know the basics. So Ragnarok is the end of the world. Nibelungenlied is like, the father of Lord of the Rings. And the early Germans had lots of free time in their hands to be making these runes—”

 

“And I can see you know lots alright.”

 

“I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you.”

 

Mikhail bites his tongue from saying anything more, grabbing a nearby chair so he could settle down next to Chris and work on his own personal mission—find a way to contact Jeremy, who’s hiding in a room ten floors above them, under the pseudonym of Brooklyn Schwarz.

 

Opening his online messenger, he IMs Chris, a loud BUZZ! sound shocking the living daylights out of the older teen.

 

“WHAT—”

 

“ _Are you sure this room isn’t wired?_ ” The IM reads, prompting Chris to shut up and think. “ _’cause I have the nasty feeling it is._ ”

 

Chris bites his bottom lip, his eyes automatically straying to the huge oval mirror hanging above their heads. On the mirror’s reflection is a picture frame of a replicated Mona Lisa, one of its eyes Chris had confirmed as a spy cam.

 

“ _We have spy cams. I don’t know if we also have voice recorders lying around_.” He replies, fingers typing quietly contrary to Mikhail’s noisy typing. “ _Don’t be surprised though if we do have them_.” He adds. Beside him, Mikhail sighs heavily. Oh, this is going to be so hard indeed.

 

“ _Jeremy’s ten floors above us_.”

 

“ _I know. Same room number, right? What’s he doing here anyway_?”

 

Mikhail pauses, biting his bottom lip as well. Both of them had acquired the habit quite quickly, though they can’t say who it originated from.

 

“ _Are you seriously with me?_ ”

 

Stupid question, he knows. But he’s honest, and knowing Chris, the guy is also honest in this kind of things. When he hears Chris snorted again, he couldn’t help but grin slightly.

 

“ _You know I’m only in this because I don’t want to worry my mom too much._ ”

 

“ _Mama’s boy_.”

 

Mikhail couldn’t help himself but send that as well, grinning in the process when he felt Chris smacking him light heartedly in the shoulder.

 

“ _How are we going to contact Jeremy?_ ”

 

“ _I honestly don’t know. He didn’t tell me any part of his plan_.”

 

“ _What a smart guy_.”

 

“ _One thing is sure about him though: he’s finding a mouse hole so he could sneak into the server_.”

 

“ _And he’s doing this through us_?”

 

“Yeah,” Mikhail mutters loudly. Beside him, Chris quickly asked a loud ‘What’. They wanted to make whoever’s watching seems like they’ve become accustomed to talking to themselves.

 

“I think I got it.” Mikhail says, but Chris knows that’s not true—which is the real meaning of Mikhail’s words. He doesn’t get it why Jeremy flies all the way to Vatican just to trail his and Chris’ moves. “It doesn’t make sense though.” He added the though as an afterthought. It’ll sound suspicious after all, if he doesn’t add that. Besides, Chris barely listens till the last of his words.

 

“Which one?”

 

“The entire thing.”

 

“ _Jeremy found the weak spot._ ” Mikhail continues through his and Chris’ chatroom.

 

“What do you mean?

 

“ _How did you know?_ ” Chris asks back.

 

“I mean… oh, Nevermind. You still wouldn’t understand if I spell it aloud.”

 

“ _’cause he just sent me a personal message from this art community we’re in.”_

“Try me.”

 

_“What did it say?”_

“Wait. Let me try to fix this. Maybe I’ll be able to get something better out of this…”

 

_“It says that Binder has already left a trail leading to the server’s ‘escape door’. He’s… waiting for one of us to use it and take down the entire Romanov server.”_

“Well, no shit.” Chris whispers, hands going slack over the laptop’s keyboard. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

 

“What’s wrong?” Mikhail quickly asks, eyeing Chris worriedly. Don’t you dare screw our cover.

 

“We…” He pauses, dark eyebrows drawing together as his eyes slowly glare at the screen. “We’re being led around like a bunch of blind disciples. Shit, I can’t believe _this_.”

 

“Chris, what the hell are you…”

 

But the words die in Mikhail’s tongue, because what he thought to be Chris’ own reaction to the news is in fact an entirely different matter. Chris is pointing his screen with a shaking finger. Mikhail didn’t know what had gotten the older teen so worried. Even when he looked at what Chris is pointing, he still didn’t. But only seconds after, when his mind has finally comprehended it, did he get the meaning.

 

“What the fuck,” he whispered in pure horror. “That’s…”

 

“That fucking bastard has her.”


	6. Forest of Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “An invisible shadow searches for you, and I sink into the darkness. Deep in the dark forest, you’re laughing.”

“That fucking bastard has her.”

 

Bile is rising up from his throat, threatening to override his self-control, but Chris does everything in his power not to throw up on his previous laptop. Or attract the unwanted attention of the spy cam behind them.

 

Finally, Mikhail draws back from his place. “This can’t be right. This just _can’t_ be right.”

 

But it can’t be denied. The message is short with only ten runes that follows no certain arrangement. But literally behind each rune is a word, and Chris was only able to realize that when he held the paper against the LCD’s bright screen. Grabbing his sign pen and a scratch paper, he sticks the parchment scrap against his laptop’s screen, adjusting the contrast and brightness to one hundred percent, and copies the word covered by the runes. Beside him, Mikhail simply watches with apprehension.

 

“It can’t be that simple.”

 

“That’s what I thought, and then I remembered that this is Binder we’re talking about,” With the last word written and noted, Chris passes it to Mikhail to read. “He has always told me to never complicate simple things, something that nearly everyone does. That saying of his led me to believe that Binder never bothers to do things so extremely even if he’s a really complex guy. I doubt he even know what these runes stand for.”

 

Mikhail nods grimly to show he understands. He glances at the parchment scrap again, at the runes that now seem to be mocking him, then at the scratch paper on his hand. Ten simple words are all it reads, a sentence that holds greater danger than a simple ‘I’ll kill you’ can hold.

 

_“She’s right next to you and me, alive and dead.”_

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

Chris grabs the scratch paper back, crumbling it into ball before retreating to the bathroom. The sound of paper being torn and then the flushing of the toilet tell Mikhail that Chris wants to destroy the very evidence of their new discovery. And when the older teen returns, his face is grimmer and darker. He has his cellphone on hand as he tosses Mikhail their bags.

 

“PM Jeremy and tell him we’re going to crash his place right now. Go and pack our things now while I call Adrian and give him the heads-up. We’re getting out of here. That damn clue only means one thing, and it means he’s here with Selene in Italy, maybe even Vatican, breathing, but facing death sentence.”

 

“But what about the Romanov? They’ll know—”

 

“I’m gonna call my dad to cover us. He’s the boss when it comes to the surveillance and security.”

 

“Chris!”

 

The older teen stops in his frantic pacing, head up at Mikhail. The latter is watching him with worried eyes, a hand gripping the back of the chair.

 

“What’s going on, Chris? You’re… panicking.”

 

The other kept his silence, his lips thinning.

 

“Maybe I am,” Chris finally says, before he reaches for the cabinet and grabs his shoes. “Or maybe I’m just worried about her.”

 

“No, you’re not. You just want to get back at Binder.”

 

“How well do you know me, Anderson?”

 

Mikhail chokes on his breath. Chris’s stare is hard and cold, directed at him, piercing his soul.

 

“Three things you need to know about me, Anderson. One, I aim to kill Lucian and destroy his pretty Romanov gang. That’s what I’ve been mean to do for my entire life. Two, I don’t like it when someone contradicts me. And three, when I give orders, you follow them. No questions asked.”

 

“Chris…”

 

“Come on. We have to get out of here now.”

 

“What have happened to you, Chris Balteisse?” Mikhail asks himself as he mindlessly packs their things, eyes never straying from Chris who’s still pacing around, arguing hotly at his father over the phone.

 

 [xxx]

 

Armand stares at the organizer on his desk as if it can tell him what’s going on. Not less than fifteen minutes before the clock turns 8 in the Wednesday morning, Adrian called him, passing Chris’ latest news.

 

“Why do you have to go back there…” He mutters to the leather bound notebook, cursing its existence.

 

Another hour later, Adrian welcomes himself to Armand’s house, wearing his simplest dark jeans and button-up black shirt, greeting Winston with a polite ‘hello’. The older teen heads straight to Armand’s room, another leather bound planner on hand.

 

“Chris made me look for this, and you will not believe what it says here. Also… what the hell are you doing?”

 

Adrian’s planner dropped to the floor with a soft thud as Armand continues to dial on the phone.

 

“I’m calling whoever’s on this number.” The blonde replies stoically, not even sparing Adrian a look.

 

“Brat, it’s only day two, _and_ nothing bad had happened at all. Jeremy said to call him only when…”

 

“I don’t care!” Armand yells, slamming the receiver down in emphasis. “One moment he tells me he’s on his way to Italy, the next _you_ call about Rosenkrantz and now I have this weird feeling something bad is going to happen! The last time this kind of thing happened, someone died!”

 

Adrian sidesteps the dropped planner on the floor, opting to pick it up later. His number one priority right now is to calm dear blondie down, and make sure the boy doesn’t do anything that’ll jeopardize Jeremy’s plan.

 

He shouldn’t have agreed to the dark-haired teen’s plans. Jeremy never plans things with a safe mind.

 

“Listen, just _calm down_ , and we’ll think of a way to _stay calm_.”

 

“I can’t stay calm,” Armand snaps at him, slapping an incoming hand away without batting an eyelash. “I can _not_ stay calm when things are like this. Something bad is happening. It’s coming and I can feel it. We have to call whoever’s on that line and ask for his help…”

 

“We will not until I call Jeremy myself.”

 

“And who gave you the right to take the lead now?”

 

So that’s what’s bothering him, Adrian figures as Armand starts pacing around the room, picking the fallen planner from the floor and placing it next to the organizer Jeremy gave him. The title of the leader.

 

“No one gave me the right, and I’m not taking the role either. Jeanne is our leader here, whether you like it or not, even if we’re doing everything to let him know the least.” And it’s not like he wants the role, too. Being a leader is a pain in the ass, and Adrian prefers to be just a back-up anytime of the day. Less blame to take and less chance to be scrutinized over.

 

Across the room, Armand glares at him, those shocking green eyes piercing him straight with a no-nonsense manner. “What do you propose we do then?” he asks warily, rolling up the sleeves of his green dress shirt. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Adrian can’t help but snicker internally at how impeccable Armand always look, even in his own home. White slacks. Who the hell wear white slacks in the middle of September with nowhere to go other than a beaten, old school that’s currently yellow-taped and out-of-access from the general public?

 

“I propose that we lie low and wait for another call from either Chris or Jeremy. If Jeremy doesn’t call by Thursday—by _tomorrow—_ we’re calling it quits. We’ll call whoever the dude is, and we’ll ask for his help.”

 

“What about the Romanov? It’s impossible they won’t get a wind of this.”

 

“According to Chris, he has his dad handling that part.”

 

That particular information caught Armand off-track. Balteisse’s father? As in, Mr. Balteisse?

 

“I don’t know why he chose his father over his mother, alright? So don’t ask.”

 

“I thought you’re the walking Niebelheim encyclopedia.”

 

Adrian grins, stuffing both of his hands into his pants pockets.

 

“I am. But not when it comes to the drama inside the Romanov house.”

 

The glare Armand sent him is scathing, but Adrian persists through it. 

 

“Fine,” Armand finally sighs out yet his glare remains its intensity. “I’ll leave that number alone. Now tell me what you have there in that planner.”

 

Minutes later, both settle down in the living room, two cups of coffee across them with the planner between them.

 

“Chris told me to look for this planner he kept in the office. It has all these places we need to go, people we need to avoid and ask help from if something bad happens.”

 

“Does his call count as something bad?”

 

“I don’t know. He just told me that Binder is in Italy.”

 

“And you think that’s the only thing he knows?”

 

Adrian stares at Armand, the brunet giving the blonde a good look.

 

“Partial truth. It’s something you’d pick up once you live more than a day in the Romanov.”

 

“Thought so.”

 

“Any idea what to do with the planner?”

 

Sighing, Adrian closes the book before tossing it carelessly to the side. Honestly, there’s nothing they could do other than sit around and wait. He told Armand that, and Armand couldn’t argue at all. They’re just going to wait for tomorrow and see if either Jeremy or Chris is still alive by the next day’s sunset.

 

[xxx]

 

A loud sneeze permeates the cramp file room of the Tang’s old mansion. Rubbing her nose and cursing whoever’s talking about her behind her back, Huang Lei continues sorting through the numerous folders and deeds in the steel filing cabinet. Just as she’s about to pull out a folder labeled ‘February, 1994’, her phone vibrates against her inner right thigh, jolting her out of her focus. She had kept her phone silent since she entered the old, lifeless mansion.

 

Someone mailed her, and there’s only a handful persons who does that. One is Syfer, because he’s always in the hospital and he made it a habit to never make phone calls in a hospital, and the other is her son, simply because the boy is never brave enough to talk to her, much less hear her speak. Her guess on the sender would be no one else but her son, and when she opens her phone, she nearly blanched. It seems like there’s someone else to add to the list now.

 

 _“Talk. Now.”_ the message simply says. Just as she’s about to flip it close, it vibrates again, this time with an incoming call. Sighing exasperatedly, she answers it, growling at her husband before he could start it.

 

“I’m in the middle of a mission if you still couldn’t catch the drift,” she snaps at him.

 

“Tell that to _your_ son. I don’t have time to deal with his rebellious nature, and I am not inclined to help him in his rebellious fits.”

 

“What in god’s name are you talking about?”

 

“I’m talking about Chris. If he thinks I’m going to help him by betraying the Family, he’s wrong.”

 

The line cuts off with a loud, metaphorical snap, Huang Lei wincing at it. She stares at the phone’s screen, going over the conversation again.

 

“Oh, screw it.”

 

Returning to the cabinet in front of her, she slips the phone back to its strap between her thighs. She’ll handle Chris’ matter after she’s done dealing with Lucian. The man had been thinking far too much into signing the alliance with the Simoni without checking reports prior to the proposal. She knows she’s doing this for the sake of keeping the Romanov from overstepping the line set between each Family, from entering her Family’s territory, but she knows she’s doing this for the sake of the Mafia world as well. Once Lucian steps out of bounds, it’s wartime. The remaining members of the Tang will not hesitate to forge allegiance with the other two Asian families and then create another Ægis just to push the Romanov back to its place in the third slot among the seven slots.

 

And she definitely does not have the time to deal with Chris.

 

Opening the folder, Huang Lei scans through its contents, flipping the pages with a swift flick of the finger. Worry begins eating her inside when she couldn’t find what she needs to deny the proposal.

 

It has to be here, her birth certificate…

 

But it’s not, and knowing that strikes a cord of fear inside of her. Why? Why can’t she find Angelica Simoni’s birth certificate? The Tang didn’t move any of the files about other files to the new settlement, so it has to be here, right in this very folder she’s clutching. Unless…

 

“No,” she whispers, horrified. No, no, no… no! _He_ can’t! It’s against the rules! It’s against the rules to enter another Family’s territory without its leader’s permission, and _she_ ’s the leader of the Tang despite her current connection to the Romanov! “That bastard can’t slip in that easily!”

 

Unless the Lee’s stunt at the Kudoku is a decoy for Binder to slip into the Tang’s old mansion to steal the certificate. And with him is the proof of Angelica Simoni’s birth and her status as Simoni heir—a status only Huang Lei and Dr. Binder Hart are aware of. This is bad. This is seriously bad. Lucian’s going to sign the peace treaty with the Simoni if she can’t show up with the birth certificate tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is it, the last of it. From this point on, the entire Syndrome was thrown back into the drawing board and completely rewritten.


End file.
